Love, Labour and Loss
by CrystalCucu-Mariarty
Summary: You've heard Rose's story, but what about before? A recently graduated Janine Hathaway makes to leave her mark on the world as a Court Guardian, but fate decides to intervene: propelling her towards a handsome Moroi with a dark secret and a world about to implode. RxR
1. Chapter 1

**Love, Labour and Loss**

 _You've heard Rose's story, but what about before? A recently graduated Janine Hathaway makes to leave her mark on the world as a Court Guardian, but fate decides to intervene: propelling her towards a handsome Moroi with a dark secret and a world about to implode._

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Academy or anything surrounding it (but I do own this plot :D)**

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JPOV

I hate dresses. Pulling down, adjusting and readjusting the silky forest-green material over my body seriously made me consider changing into sweats. The skirt was long; it cascaded down, skimming the skin on my legs, before settling on the floor. I had worn my hair down, allowing the neat loops of ginger curls to frame my face and rest on my chest. I had even gone so far as to venture to the world of make-up. Mother had always said I could be pretty if I tried – possibly as close to a compliment that I could get from the woman.

I took one last look in the mirror before letting out a heavy sigh. _This was it._ Many of classmates had been longing and planning for this day since they had first become teenagers. The Moroi, particularly the royal ones as you could no doubt imagine, had been the most occupied with the event arrangements considering they only had to study academically rather than spending very waking hour pushing their bodies to the max to aid the desperate plea to keep both themselves and other around them alive.

 _They come first. They come fist._ _They come first._ I chanted in my head as my fists balled in anger. Whilst I upheld this maxim outwardly, inside was another story. I had been subjected to taunting and teasing because of my rough complexion, 'stupid' accent and general un-femininity most of my life and it was heavily from Moroi of upper-standing. Petty, I know, but I was still a teenager with raging hormones and a juvenile mindset, despite my mother's preferences.

I closed my eyelids and let my mind clear of any and all thoughts. In spite of not actually wanting to participate in the forthcoming events, it was compulsory to attend the Graduation Ball if I actually wanted to _graduate_.

What it wrong to see that as a sort of blackmail?

Anyway, I figured that I would _not_ throw away the years of training, studying and the shy of one-hundred percent I got in my field test and trails for some stupid social gathering, intended solely to keep the attention-seekers of the Academy contented one last time.

Contrary of everything I may have first believed, I would miss this place. Looking round my bagged up dorm room made it clear in my mind that this was, very much, an ending point: no more safe security of the Academy, I was about to be unleashed into the wider and unprotected world. I had spent my entire life preparing to be ready, to be a guardian, but in all honesty, I was terrified.

I inhaled quickly and mentally slapped myself for being so weak. I may have been alone but I was not going to be that person who wallows in their self-pity. Satisfied that I looked marginally presentable, I left my room and began to make my way to the main hall.

"Hath-a-way!"

The wolf whistle and whoop that echoed in the hallway brought a smile to my face. I stopped trudging along, relieved at the notion that I would not be turning up all alone.

"Hey Emyl." I turned to face my encore and greeted him with a grin. Emyl Burlatsky was one of the few friends I actually had at St Vladimir's Academy. He was also a novice – well, guardian now – and we got on a lot. He too would be going to Court after all of this so we'd be seeing a lot of each other which gave me a reassuring feeling that not _everything_ would be different. Emyl was a good-looking fellow – his dusty brown hair, deep blue eyes and 6" toned body usually attracted a substantial amount of attention – so you can image how he looked in a tux. It was then I noticed that his eyes had not met mine. I frowned before realising that he was casting his gaze up and down my body, clearly enjoying the fact that someone, somewhere had managed to persuade me to get into a dress. Did I mention I hated dresses?

"Man, you clean up good, Jenny." He said finally meeting my eyes. I could feel the beginnings of a blush worm its way under my cheeks so I looked away in attempt to conceal it. "May I?"His voice had a devious tone to it and I saw that he was holding out his arm for me to take it. I gave him a playful glare and he chuckled. "Come on: humour me."

I rolled my eyes and linked my through his. Once there, he unleashed his trademark smug smile and began to lead me towards the hall. I could already see other people making their way towards to hall and, since Emyl had done such a goo job cleaning himself up, there were quite a few stares. This meant, by unfortunate logic, that there were many people also looking at me.

Sensing my discomfort, Emyl quickened his pace and we entered the party without too many gaping individuals. The Academy had gone to extraordinary lengths to make the Graduation Ball something to remember. The long, rectangular canteen hall had transformed into an exquisite ballroom, draped in a blood crimson and golden colour scheme. It was truly spectacular. The harmonic music filled my ears as the enticing food filled my nose. I all but moaned upon entering which caused Emyl to chuckle again.

"I didn't realise I had such an effect on you." He whispered wriggling his eyebrows. I narrowed my eyes and slapped his chest.

"Watch it, mister." I threatened and he just laughed. I shook my head a little and turned my attention back to the room. I had to admit, the Academy had done a fine job of making this look like fun but that did not mean I was going to indulge. They had said I had to attend, they did not say I had to contribute.

Since we were a little late, the party was very much underway which made it all the more effortless to find myself a quiet corner where no-one would be bothering me for the evening. Emyl, however, had other plans.

"What are you-no way."I said firmly as he pulled me towards the dance floor.

"Come on," he sang, keeping a solid grip on my arm. "I know you'll just stay in the corner all night, so just one dance?" he asked with a pout. The gesture was almost comical on his manly exterior and I struggled to form a decent comeback.

Taking this as a win, the smug Emyl smile returned. "Alright. One dance – though that is it." He chuckled again and I could not help but join in. Shaking my head, amusedly this time, I brought my arms around Emyl's neck and his hands drifted down to rest on my hips.

"You have been holding back on me, Jenny." He said after a moment's silence. I frowned up at him and he clarified. "I didn't know you could dance." He grinned again and I rolled my eyes.

"Ever the charmer." I teased and he smiled.

"Oh I try." He responded with a wink. "See this isn't so bad?" he said, a little hope seeping into his words.

"Mhmm." I hummed sarcastically.

"I'm being serious. You know, you are stuck here you might as well-"

"Emyl!" A voice called out from across the floor, successfully cutting him off.

"Harriet!" Emyl grinned as the beautiful Moroi girl wandered towards us. I smiled too. I liked Harriet. Harriet Conta was the type of person who couldn't give more than a shit about wealth, titles and all that. She was a genuinely nice person and I was almost certain it was impossible not to like her.

"Oh my daze, Janine! Is that even you?" she said: her dazzling blue eyes wide in joyful shock as she looked over at me.

"Heya, Harriet." I smiled and her grin only got bigger and brighter.

"You look beautiful." She whispered into my ear as I was engulfed into one of her infamous hugs. I could feel Emyl grinning behind us but I wasn't too fussed.

"Thank you." I said pulling out of her embrace. "You do too." And I actually meant it. Harriet normally looked good but today was exceptional. Unlike most Royal Moroi, she had kept her out-fit light and…pleasant. She wore a long, wafty light blue dress and her make-up was light, emphasising her natural beauty in contrast to some of the other individuals who looked as though they had fallen face-front into flour.

"Oh, thank you so much. I wasn't too sure about this dress but if you like it then it must be good!" she giggled. "But you should totally wear dresses more often Janine; they suit you so well and reveal all those curves you have been hiding." She winked and looked away to hide my blush. "Owww, I'm just kidding." She playfully nudged my shoulder and I offered a small smile.

"I know: its okay." I reassured her, knowing all too well how easily she worried. Seriously, Emyl and I had to take on shifts trying to calm her down before every exam she had to take.

"Thanks, gal." she rested her arm around my neck and onto my shoulder. "I actually came over to steal your dance partner." She nodded toward an uncharacteristically quiet Emyl.

"I'm just so irresistible." Ah, there he was.

"Yeah, you can take him." I said and he gave me a playful glare. "I'm going to go check out the punch." I said and waved my two friends off into the crowded dance floor. Like the good guardian I was aspiring to be, I had already managed a sweep of the room and deduced that the alcove in which they had set up the 'non-alcoholic' punch was my best bet for this evening. It was quiet, isolated and provided a good visual on the entire hall. Of course, I had been trained to use this as an opportunity to locate dangers but I'm sure my teachers won't mind me using my skills to avoid general people.

Thus, I decided to put my new guardian status to use. I surveyed the room, looking for danger, and when I found none I got bored. How people could tolerate these types of things, I would never know, but when the drum beat became louder and more defined, and the electric guitars were let loose, the entire room went ecstatic. I personally never saw the appeal of this kind of music but apparently everyone else did.

I rolled my eyes and groaned, realising that this was going to be my life for the next couple of hours. I suppose it is experience – being put in uncomfortable situations was just something I wasn't going to have to accept in my life, no matter how hard I tried. I only knew too well that _they come first_ , but was it completely absurd of me to ask for a little opinion: just a little respect. I mean it can't be _that_ difficult-

Ooofff.

"Hey watch where your going-" my breath caught as I met two swirling brown eyes. I refocused my vision to take in the rest of his features before I concluded that I did not know him. He was a Moroi – that was obvious enough – but his dark-tanned complexion could have led me a little astray. He had dark, I mean, _really_ dark hair – the type of brown that could pass as black in certain lighting – and a thin rim of stubble around his mouth and chin. His ear was pierced with a golden loop and he wore an expensive suit accompanied with a rather elaborate scarf.

But I still had no idea who he was.

"Apologies: my bad." He gave me a bright, white smile – complete with fangs. I nodded and made to walk away but a hand stopped me.

Before I properly think, my reflexes took over and I grabbed the hand and twisted rather violently. The guy grunted in protest and I immediately let go.

"Oh my god, I am so sorry." I exclaimed quickly, checking that I hadn't broken anything or that anyone had seen.

Mercifully, no-one had, and the guy just chuckled. "Ah, I like a woman with a bit of spice." He jested, still clutching his shoulder. I bit my lip, feeling unbelievably awful that I had just injured this poor guy at a party in which he was suppose to be having fun. "Ibrahim Mazur."

"What?" I blinked.

He smiled, holding out his uninjured arm, "My name: Ibrahim Mazur."

Oh. "Janine Hathaway." I nodded, electing not to take his arm, in fear of damaging this one too. Sensing my predicament, the guy laughed again.

I scowled and his laugh died down to an amused smirk. "May I ask why the beautiful dhampir is standing, alone, in the corner as the world parties around her?" he gestured around him with some difficulty considering the state of his right arm.

I decided that I would show him why I didn't have friends. "Ask all you like, doesn't mean I'm going to grace you with an answer." I shrugged crossing my arms over my chest. "I don't know you; I doubt you are a peer of mine, so why should I answer anything?" I swept my face clean of any stray emotion and left it in a state of indifference. I expected to be left alone after that but the guy – Ibrahim – just stood with a lop-sided smirk and pleasant surprise written over his face.

Shit. That was _not_ the outcome I was intending.

"Scottish." He murmured after a moment of just staring at me.

"Excuse me?" I asked, raising an eyebrow coldly.

"Your accent, it is Scottish." He clarified.

I narrowed my eyes. "So what if it is?"

The smile on his face grew. "You're right; I am not a student here. I was just invited to keep the party going."

"Oh, so you're the liquor provider." I nodded my head in mock interest.

The devious glint in his eyes had now reached the rest of his face. "That I am, Miss Hathaway."

" _Guardian_ Hathaway." I corrected, already rather fond of my new title given that it was the only one I'd ever get. I knew that 'Mazur' was not a royal family name so it gave me great satisfaction knowing that _I_ (the dhampir)got a title and _he_ (the Moroi) was stuck with the lowly 'mister'.

Much to my irritation, he outright laughed…again. "Ah, of course. Please, forgive my mistake, _Guardian_ Hathaway." He emphasised and I let a self-satisfied smirk leak its way onto my face. "May I have this dance?" he asked and I realised the song had changed from the up-beat drums to a softer melody.

My self-satisfaction dissipated very quickly and I desperately tried to think of a decent excuse. "I can't dance." Genius.

"Tsk, tsk Janine," Ibrahim mused, "you are very much lying - I saw you and you are quite the brilliant dancer."

"You were watching me dance?" I blurted out before my mind had time to censor my thoughts.

"Yes." He said simply, as if it was not creepy that a 20-21 year old was watching an 18 year old dance with her friend. He inclined his head a little and narrowed his eyes, almost as though he was studying me, but the cocky smile remained firmly in place. I felt a little uneasy under his gaze, but if he noticed, he didn't act on it.

All of a sudden, something behind me caught his eye and the smile faltered a little. I turned around to see a group of guys looking expectantly over at us – all of them over the age range of this Graduation Ball.

I bit back my laugh and turned to face Ibrahim. "Looks like your 'gang' is waiting for you."

His eyes found mine again and the smile returned. "It would appear so. I am terribly sorry to cut this so short, I would have loved that dance." He said in all sincerity but his tone of voice made it impossible to work out whether he was being sarcastic about it.

"Maybe another time." I said sarcastically.

"I'll hold you to that," He grinned and I rolled my eyes. "You look very beautiful in that dress, Janine." He said and I drifted my gaze from anywhere but him. Though I could not see it, I could feel his smile on me. He walked closer to me and tilted my head to meet his. He reached towards the table and picked up a single red rose from the bunch of flowers that lay as decoration on the table. He broke half the stem off and tucked the rose behind my ear. "There, now you are truly beautiful."

Too stunned to speak, my whole body froze. Ibrahim smiled again and took my hand to press a light kiss to my knuckles. "Until the next time: _Guardian_ Hathaway." He said.

It took a moment but I regained control over my body and turned to call after him as he went. "I bet you have flowers for all the girls you like."

He stopped walking and turned his head over his shoulder. Though he was further away, he was close enough for him to speak normally and be heard only by me: "I may have all the flowers in the world for the other girls, but you are the only one worth my rose…"

* * *

 **Hello my dear comrades in Comrade**

 **How lovely it is to see you all again :) For those of you who have been following my last story, thank you all so much for the wonderful reviews and feedback for the last chapter of Cold as Ice (sorry I couldn't thank you on that story). And to you all, welcome to my next writing endeavour :P This was an idea that has pottering about in my head for a while and since I had so much fun writing for Abe in my last story, I wanted to do it again. I haven't seen many Janine/Abe pre-Rose stories and I really fancied giving it a go.**

 **What do you think? Like it? Love it? Hate it? I'd really love to know, just to see if I should continue it. Currently, I am in my first year of A levels and I really want to get started on another story, just for a distraction and break from the stressful abyss that is my current situation xD**

 **So please, do let me know :D**

 **As ever, here's wishing you all the very best  
** **Mariarty**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Academy or anything surrounding it (but I do own this plot :D)**

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JPOV

I zipped up the last of my bags and glanced around my room. No point getting sentimental now as when I walked out that door, I wasn't coming back. Deciding to do just that, I slung a strap over my shoulder and clasped my fingers round the suitcase handle before proceeding to walk towards the door. All my other possessions had been or were about to be transported onto the plane and the room that was left was a bare shell – you could not imagine someone had been living here for most of their life. But yet, that is how it was when I first arrived so a sense of circular completion had been achieved and gave me enough closure to walk straight out the room, without one last lingering look.

I made my way over to the Moroi dorms to find Harriet. What I found was Emyl standing one of her many suitcases whilst she desperately tugged at the zipper.

"Jenny! Oh, good we could use a little muscle." Emyl looked up where he was instructing Harriet on how to zip up a bag when I gently knocked on the door.

"Hey!" Harriet said, taking a little offense from Emyl's comment before sighing as acceptance fell upon her, "No, he's right."

I smiled and dropped my bag on the floor. I wandered over, took Harriet's place and Emyl and I had the bag zipped up and closed within two minutes. Harriet was going back to Court to be with her family. She had put in a request for two guardians but was only issued with one: Emyl. I had been assigned to Court to which Harriet had expressed great outraged but was much too polite to make any sort of fuss. Thus, I was only travelling with them to get my next assignment, but I highly doubted that we would part ways when we got there.

I was assuming I had my mother to blame for this particular outcome. You see, she was in the firm belief that I was simply not 'responsible' enough to handle a Personal Guardian role and that I should get some practise in the field of being a Court Guardian. To be fair, I could build a fierce reputation much more easily as a Court Guardian than I could as a Personal Guardian, but that was hardly the point. I liked Harriet and I liked Emyl: I wouldn't have minded working with and for them for the rest of my life.

But alas…

"Jeez, Harriet, how much stuff do you have?" Emyl said frowning intently at the seven big bags that lay before him.

"Hey, a girl is going to have a lot of stuff. Isn't that right Janine?" she turned to me and her face fell when she saw my two bags. I shrugged as Emyl's face grew smug once again.

"You were really going to employ _Janine Hathaway_ to back you up on something 'girly'." He chuckled and Harriet flashed him a glare.

"Don't be so mean, you saw her at the dance: she looked wonderful." Harriet defended and Emyl dropped the smug smile in place of a genuine kind one. I felt a little taken back by her comment, but Harriet was always defending everyone so I really shouldn't have been too surprised.

Though her defence did have another effect.

As we were lugging ourselves over to the plane, Emyl and I carrying some of Harriet's bags and her and Emyl teasing each other about their possessions, my mind went back to the dance.

When Ibrahim left, I can honestly say I was a little flustered. I had never been in such a situation before and I really did not know what the protocol was. I watched him wander over to the group of guys and start engaging in what appeared to be a rather intense conversation. His eyes met mine and his lips twitched upward before I realised I should stop staring.

Forcing my body round, I mentally slapped myself repeatedly for being so unprofessional. I suddenly remembered there was still a rose behind my ear and was quick to remove it and throw it in the nearest bin; I think out of fear more than anything else.

I elected to leave after that: I knew Guardian Peters had seen me so he could not lecture me for 'not attending' considering I did…for a bit.

The evening pretty much ended there for me. The rest of the school continued to party until silly o'clock in the morning whilst I decided to finish packing everything up and then realise I had nothing to do. Sighing, I pulled a book – not a fictional one of course, for one would not call me an 'avid' reader per say, but the Guardian Handbook that we dhampir's treated as our very own Bible – and spent the night on my bed, revising how to be the best guardian I could.

I could feel the very same book jabbing my leg as it was tucked under the seat in the plane. I considered getting it out again, but accepted that I was already positioned in a comical way and getting what was essentially a textbook out would just add more humour to the situation. You see, I was sitting in a three astride row with myself in the aisle, Harriet at the window – getting way too over excited about 'how small everything is' – finally coupled with Emyl in the middle who, in possibly the most amusing turn of events, seemed fixated on clawing the life out of the cushioned arm rest as he sat tense and in fear of the fact that we were flying.

"I didn't know you were scared of planes…" I said teasingly as a high-pitched, trembling sigh escaped his lips when the plane jolted through a little turbulence.

"Jenny…" he said as evenly as he could, "if we survive this...I'm going to kill you." I sat back chuckling as Harriet squealed at a microscopic settlement whilst tugging against Emyl's tensed bicep, evidently too entertained by what was outside to notice poor, little Emyl's current dilemma. Resting my head back on the headrest, I let the soft murmur of conversation lull me to sleep and I allowed myself to sink into blissful unconsciousness for the remainder of the fight.

I awoke many hours later to the sound of the pilot telling us we had landed. Many of the plane's passengers had arisen from the seats and we mulling around, prying bags from tight over-head compartments and stretching out ten and a half hours of sitting down. I tilted my head from side to side, cracking out the strain it had acquired. Harriet had all but jumped from her seat and sprung over Emyl and I's laps to get ready to depart the metal beast. Emyl, on the other hand, seemed to be almost meditating as he sat, with closed eyes, in a rigid position.

I waved a palm in front of his face but he did not respond. I frowned and used the index finger of the same hand to poke his right arm.

"What-is-it-what-happened-where-are-we?!" his eyes sprang open and the words fumbled out all in one. My initial shock became quickly overcome by the rather difficult task of suppressing my full-blown laughter. Noticing this, Emyl's tense, 'ready to fight' body relaxed into a scowled and not amused manner.

"Just letting you know we are on the ground." I said, continuing to bite back my amusement.

His scowled deepened as his bit the inside of his cheek, "Not funny, Jenny."

"Janine, Emyl, come on!" A harmonic voice sang through the plane as Harriet poked her head back through the door before all but skipping off the plane. Emyl elbowed my side and I looked at him disapprovingly before we rose, got our bags and – much to Emyl's delight – got off the plane.

Like the good guardian and gentleman he was, Emyl trailed behind Harriet, helping her carry her bags as she flung herself at her awaiting family. A pang of jealousy shot through me as I watched Harriet's mother embrace her in a tight hug but I was quick to shut it down.

"And this is Emyl, my new guardian." Harriet introduced, all but dragging her relations towards the muscular guardian, who had seemingly quickly gotten over his flying phobia to make himself look a little more presentable.

"Emyl?! Good gracious, is that you?!" Harriet's mother, Julia, stated with widened eyes and genuine shock plastered across her face. We had met Harriet's family once before but it was absolutely years ago – long before any of us had hit puberty. Let's just say, scrappy, spotty Emyl with the long side fringe and below average height proved of great contrast to the guardian standing before her today.

Emyl gave a respectful smile and nod. "Yes, Lady Conta."

"Oh, come now: it is Julia. Drop those ridiculous customs; you are part of the family now." she chastised waving his formality off with her hand. "And I am assuming the lovely Janine…" she grinned, turning on me.

"Yes, ma'am." I smiled and I too was met with the 'look'.

"It's Julia for you too, young lady. No matter where you are assigned, you are always welcome under our roof." She assured sternly before letting loose a radiant smile, that resided so often in Harriet, and engulfed the Emyl and myself in a strong hug; rather impressive considering how Emyl towered above both of us, myself in particular.

After Julia relinquished her grip, the rest of the introductions were made. Robert and Tamara Conta, I already knew from our last visit. They were Harriet's aunt and uncle and had become a lot more involved in her life after the death of her father. Anton Conta's demise was tragic to say the least – caught in a Strigoi attack whilst he was on holiday away from Court – and I don't think either Julia or Harriet ever really recovered. Consequently, it was not a topic that Harriet frequently indulged and her kind and tempered personality would falter to one of quick lashes. Julia, on the other hand, always appeared to bear a somewhat haunted look in her expression which she, much like her daughter, covered with her kind disposition. Regardless though, she was immensely grateful when her husband's brother and his wife offered their aid.

The other two men, I did not know. The elder was a Sergey Kravitz: a stout Moroi of nearly fifty with an uncharacteristically intimidating disposition. He reminded me a little of Ibrahim, but the illusion was broken at the sight of his tremendous moustache. I saw Emyl's impassive composure falter and I had to stifle my own giggle. Sergey was apparently an old friend of Julia's who was at Court on a matter of business. The nature of this business was not divulged and instantly made me more wary of the elder Moroi. The second man was introduced as his son, Alistair. Thankfully, Alistair had the good sense not to have his face half covered by a moustache; indeed, he appeared to have a superior sense of fashion than most as his attire was flawless. Or so Harriet told me. She seemed a little bewitched by the man and it was hardly surprising: Alistair was incredibly attractive. Even I had to admit that. He appeared to defy the usual lanky stature that befell most male Moroi in trade of a figure that could rival a Dhampir. He retained the pale complexion but his thick, blonde hair arranged into a neat quiff and deep blue eyes meant that his pale skin-tone became him. In fact, the only fault I could perceive was in his countenance and that is where he lost my good opinion:

He _knew_ he was hot.

I had to stop my scowl as I saw his smug and self-satisfied grin at Harriet's flustered attempt at an introduction. His light flirtation and laughing eyes appeared to be mocking my friend and also did not go unnoticed by Emyl whose stoic demeanour could not hide the rage pulsing in his eyes.

"Let's all go inside – it is getting rather chilly out here." Julia suggested and with that, the group made their way off the runway and into the east wing of the Royal Court. The Conta and Kravitz's guardians flanked our journey until we were all inside. I watched and mentally noted all their actions and tactics, storing them for future use, but also trying a few out as I walked. I saw Emyl doing the same as we walked behind the large group, acting as the near guardians. Harriet had linked her arm with her mothers and the others all appeared in light conversation with each other as we walked into the entrance.

It was quite a walk between the entrance to the runway and the actual east wing. I was mapping as I went, putting my training to good use and memorising the maze of corridors that finally lead us to the housing in the east wing. Each part of the Royal Court was divided into essentially families. Whilst some did mix, many appeared fixed into their birth groups. Harriet had briefed me once on the society at Court: the Ivashkovs occupied the largest and grandest wing but the Conta's placement in the eastern wing was not unworthy of praise. It had only been three years since the abdication of Ekaterina Zeklos and the coronation of Tatiana Ivashkov, but the Ivashkovs were already lapping up all the perks of having one of their own in power. The other eleven families seemed to put up with this, albeit begrudgingly (some more than most). After Tatiana's coronation, many feared for the change; Ekaterina had been on the throne for shy of fifty years and the vampiric world had known a steady and solid peace during that time. The prospect of a new, younger monarch had caused tension to grow, but Tatiana appeared to withhold a more traditional mindset which was met with some relief, but also some wariness.

As we approached Julia Conta's housing, Harriet broke away from her mother and came to walk beside me.

"You looked a little lonely back there, Janine," she commented, nudging my shoulder, "not what you were expecting?"

I smiled. "A wee bit overwhelming, perhaps." I admitted. Harriet smiled and wrapped her slender arms around my own and resting her head on my shoulder as we continued to walk.

"Oh, please don't worry: I just know you are going to be absolutely amazing." She reassured.

"Thank you," I replied, smiling gently. She lifted her head and grinned over at me as her mother invited us into her home.

"Come on in, don't be shy – lunch will be in half an hour and we've booked the feeders for one o'clock," Julia announced, smiling brightly as she ushered myself and Harriet through the door. Emyl and I had to attend a collective gathering with the head guardian which was, annoyingly, in the west wing and was to commence after lunch. The collective gathering was for all new Court and personal guardians and was a compulsory event in which we would receive – most likely – an incredibly dull talk on how 'important' we were (and by that, they meant how sacrificial) before the administration process began. The thought brought a grimace to my face, but I was quick to compose myself when Alastair Kravitz walked towards me.

"Hello, I don't believe I've had the pleasure," he said, extending his arm towards me, "Alastair."

"Guardian Hathaway," I replied only just succeeding in keeping my tone polite as I saw his smug approach.

He quirked an eyebrow and took back his unshaken hand. "What? No first name?" he queried with a slight pout.

I resisted the scowl. "I do not think it proper since I am in the service of the Court, therefore in the service of you: however indirectly it may appear." I replied with a level monotone that surprised even myself. _Oh well._ I thought. I didn't think I had the patience enough to suffer through a conversation with a stuck-up, proud Moroi who spent their time looking down on my kind like a vulture does a weakened wild cat.

Thoughts of Ibrahim returned to me for the third time that day and were only cemented when, against all my desires, Alastair's grin deepened and he chuckled lightly, "Oh, the cat hath claws," he said as his eyes did a full sweep of my body. I felt like punching the guy in his flawless face, but deemed it a little ironic considering the speech I had just spewed in the hope he would bugger off. "It's no matter, though," he shrugged, "your little ginger friend told me your name is Janine. But I just might call you 'Kitty' in light of your recent feline actions." He said with a teasing tone.

"Janine will suffice." I said flatly. "And her name is Harriet, by the way. _Not_ my little 'ginger friend'." I considered correcting him and stating that Harriet's hair was actually strawberry blonde, but that may have been pushing it.

Alastair frowned faintly and inclined his head, "Oh, forgive me, Janine. Though I must ask what I have done to reward such an icy reception. You seem determined to dislike me, but you do not know me...yet. Perhaps I could change your mind?"

I looked up at him and saw sincerity which made me reconsider my harshness. Maybe I was unfairly applying my own stereotypes of his type in spite of only knowing him for less than an hour. Before the entire plotline of _Pride and Prejudice_ could run through my mind, I decided to ease off a little as spoke again, "You could try, but I should warn you: I am very stubborn." I hoped that this would deter him; even if I was being unkind, I was not one to give the benefit of doubt and I had witnessed one too many dealings with individuals of a cocky disposition to render the likelihood of a changed opinion minimal.

Once again (and to my utter dismay) he grinned, "Ah, you Irish always are."

"I'm Scottish," I corrected.

"Oh, even worse!" I could not help rolling my eyes. "But, I never back down from a challenge, so consider yours very much accepted." He said extending his arm. I looked up at him quizzically to which he pouted again. Rolling my eyes again, I took his hand and shook it, much to his delight. "So, my name is Alastair..." he said trailing off.

Realising I wasn't going to win this, I conceded, "Janine."

"It's nice to meet you Janine. Are you assigned to Harriet too?"

"No, I am a Court Guardian."

"Ah, so your average peasant in a puddle," he grinned feverously and I had to bite back my retort, but the glare I sent him had about the same effect as the comment would. "I'm kidding. No, you are _far_ from average..."

"So are you just here visiting Court?" I said to stop myself saying something else whilst mentally praying that his visit would be just that.

Naturally, though, I was disappointed.

"Nah, the old man has business at Court so we're going to be here a while." He explained with, what I assumed was, a seductive smirk. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a response, instead I cast my gaze over to where his father was standing in the corner of the large sitting room talking into his phone. He appeared a little on edge and from what I could hear through the forest that occupied his upper lip, he was agitated...and speaking Spanish?

 _Why was he speaking Spanish?_ I thought. It was strange to say the least as most Moroi in this part of the world, whilst none objected to learning other languages, stuck pretty much to Russian, Romanian – that sort of thing due to the heritage of their race. Some did venture out, but remained around the German and French area. I suppose Spain was next door, but even so. The only reason I knew it was because Emyl had gone on a holiday to said country with his family back in the fifth grade and came back practically fluent: he literally refused to speak English again for about a month.

"Oh, dad's colleagues all speak the language, so he became pretty fluent in it too." I blinked as Alistair answered my question before I realised I had said it aloud.

"Oh" was all I could say in response to that.

Alastair smiled again and sighed loudly. "Well, looks like you'll be seeing a lot more of me. How lucky for you! Ha-ha!" he laughed to himself whilst I just dreaded my impending future talks with this Moroi. Thankfully though, this one was about to be cut short.

"Mr Kravitz, might I steal Guardian Hathaway away from you." With Alistair distracted, I mouthed a 'thank you' to Emyl as he addressed the aforesaid Kravitz.

Alistair looked a little disgusted at Emyl, or more specifically his interruption, but pursed his lips together and smiled, albeit sickly. "Of course, Guardian Burlatsky," he said civilly before turning to me. He took my hand in his and bowed over to kiss it gently, "See you around, Kitty." He winked before striding over to go sweet-talk Julia.

"Thank you so much." I said as soon as Alistair was out of ear-shot. Emyl's expression softened and he chuckled lightly.

"No worries," he said shrugging before a devious grin of his own enveloped his face, "Kitty?" I glared at him which only made him laugh. I shoved him lightly as we wandered over to Harriet who held out glasses of water to us as we approached. Glancing back over my shoulder, I saw Alistair watching me and in meeting my gaze, his smile grew. I turned back and embraced the harsh revelation. I had been here less than a day and I already knew one thing:

This was most certainly not going to be easy...

* * *

 **Hello my dear comrades in Comrade**

 **Thank you so much for all the comments on the last chapter! I really appreciate them :D I shall endeavour to do this little prequel justice and I hope you will enjoy it as a result :)**

 **I am planning on updating weekly but I unfortunately cannot promise that :3 Hopefully, you guys will stick through this xD One of the good things about writing for Abe and Janine is that I get to make up a lot of my own characters and practise character development (hence one of the reasons why I am doing this) so please let me know what you think as this goes along :D**

 **Here's wishing you all the best,  
Mariarty**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Academy or anything surrounding it (but I do own this plot :D)**

* * *

JPOV

"See, I told you so."

"You most certainly did not-"

"Nope, I did – pay up, Jenny." He extended his hand and flexed his fingers, gesturing for me to hand over what he deemed he was owed. I, however, remained steadfast in my stubborn stance since no bet had actually been affirmed by _both_ parties.

Emyl and I had just walked out of the compulsory collective meeting for all new personnel and, as predicted, it was dire. The head guardian – Georges Demort – was about as lively as his last name. He appeared to be a remaining fragment of pre-revolutionary France, with the same blind loyalty and acceptance of the hierarchal system and his place in it. And, much like the upper classes of that French society, he expected us to share this opinion. Around halfway through the meeting, Emyl and I got so bored that we began counting how many times Guardian Demort said he phrase: 'it is our honour'.

We got to 53.

"I totally said it would be over fifty." Emyl stated, finally conceding and moving his hand away. I rolled my eyes and continued to walk forward with Emyl at my side.

"So, what's in your fancy pack then?" I asked nodding towards the sealed envelope swinging with his arm, back a fourth like an unobstructed pendulum. Each attendee was given a sealed, 'confidential' envelope with our assignments and any and all details that would be necessary in our future careers. Naturally though, as soon as we were all out the door, everyone was opening theirs up and comparing with those around them. I had yet to open mine, but I was dying to see how much more exciting my life could have been as a personal guardian rather than, as Alastair so eloquently put it, 'your average peasant in a puddle'.

 _A life I could've had…_

I squashed the sentiment almost as soon as it came into my head, chastising myself for being so pathetic. Emyl appeared blissfully unaware as he glanced down at his unopened pack and grinned. Stopping by the wall as we turned the corner, we both eagerly ripped open the envelopes like excited children at Christmas. Though, much like my Christmas', I was disappointed by what I found. Inside my gloriously confidential envelope were three pieces of paper: one that was a long and complex form that I had to fill out regarding my new position; the second was another form, though this one was asking for my shirt and trouser sizes for uniform and the final was a typed-up letter from Guardian Demort, concluding with:

 _Please report to Guardian H. Croft at 1400 hours_

I scowled at my contents; it was the epitome of the most unhelpful feedback ever. I seriously considered marching back into that now vacant hall and demanding Guardian Demort explain himself for this packet of lunacy. Thankfully, I managed to compose myself; grunting loudly before looking over at Emyl and trying to stop my laughter at the look on his face. His features were consumed with confused horror as page after page fell out, each containing detailed accounts and profiles of Harriet and her immediate family. There was even a 'short' history of the Contas at the very end of his mountain of paperwork.

"Jesus! This has more stuff than Harriet's suitcases! How the hell did they fit it all in?" he exclaimed, occupying himself by studying the physics of how essentially the transcript of _War and Peace_ had managed to squeeze itself into that small brown envelope. I snorted, failing somewhat to contain my amusement and Emyl narrowed his eyes towards me, glaring teasingly.

Maybe my three pages weren't so bad...

"Shit – have I got to read all of _this_!?" he said hoisting up the massive wodge of paper and gazing at me dumbfounded.

"I believe you: 'have to know it better than you know yourself'," I quoted, trying to mimic Guardian Demort's European accent.

Emyl huffed begrudgingly, "Well, guess what I'll be doing 'till bloody Easter." He grumbled and I smiled softly.

"Maybe it won't be too bad – at least you'll have Harriet to keep you company." I said in an attempt at reassurance but it had the opposite effect on me, making my tone waver towards that of a slightly damper mood.

Emyl, ever the observer, ceased in his faffing and looked up with a small smile. "Hey, don't worry, Jenny: you won't be alone in this. You are not defined by what you do, nor dictated by your career or position. Harriet and I will always be right beside you. Allies for life, right?" He finished with his signature smirk and I grinned back.

"Allies for life." I echoed the memory – a promise Emyl and I had made when we first started our training. Even our two child selves – socially ostracised by circumstances beyond our own – understood: it is important to have friends, if not then allies, in life. Yes, I would serve the Moroi – endeavouring to put them first in everything – but to do that without someone you could call friend? To commit yourself to your career and forgo any emotion or sentiment? What an empty life that would be.

And with that, we continued. I had arranged to meet up with Harriet later on that day; she'd insisted in showing me all the shops at Court and the pleading hope in her eyes made it all but impossible to refuse her, but that excitement was going to have to wait until after I had spoken to Guardian Cross – no, Croft. Emyl too had been summoned elsewhere: he was to meet the rest of the team he'd be serving with and to be briefed in the art of protecting the Contas. Thus, we walked together, talking of the little insignificant things that people do and laughing at past memories until we reached our divide and parted ways.

In spite of all its architectural glory, whoever designed the Royal Court was a blithering idiot. There were more twists and turns in these corridors than there were in the structure of DNA. Whilst all the offices for the Guardians were located on the third floor, getting from one to another involved going either up or down one or two flights of stairs and back again like in a naval ship. Albeit a seriously pampered naval ship. I got lost several times (for Guardian Demort had so delightfully not given me a map in amongst my three page 'highly confidential' pack) and I had to ask for directions which is mortifying enough when you are in a group, but on your own it is so much worse. I did find the office, and thankfully before two o'clock, but I was already embarrassed before I went in which gave me little in the way of hope when I actually had to speak to the man.

"Ah, Guardian Hathaway," shortly followed my entry before, "please, do be seated" followed that. I nodded stiffly, not managing the smile, and sat opposite Guardian Croft. He was younger than I thought he would be – early thirties perhaps. Guardian Demort was well into his fifties so I had just assumed all senior members would be around that age. He seemed pleasant enough as he looked up at me from his stack of paper that occupied most of his desk-space, but was mercifully disinterested enough to not notice my pathetically nervous attitude.

"So, I have looked over your scores and I must say: very impressive." He said, pulling up a file to the top of his paper mountain. "It seems you could have done anything with these results. What made you choose to be a Court Guardian?" he asked.

Well.

My nervousness was gone and what replaced it was an odd mix of irritation and resentment. Why didn't I choose another career path? Let's review the facts: it won't be much of a shock to hear that I didn't have much in the way of friends, especially not Moroi friends. Harriet was possibly the only one I would give the definition of 'friend' to. The others seemed to maintain the unspoken social hierarchy that stuck dhampirs like me – who weren't exactly what society deemed 'normal' – at the same level as a pile of shite. Then there was the previously stated issue of my mother. If you hadn't already guessed, we didn't get along. Elaine Hathaway wanted nothing to do with me and I had been reminded frequently of that. But what she did want was for me to not ruin her beloved reputation any more than I already had, hence her interference with my placement. She wanted me to keep my head down and just exist as though all my soul had been removed and all that remained was an automotive zombie. Though, unfortunately for her, my soul was very much still here and very much displeased at its current situation. _God!_ If I, in the highly unlikely situation that it was, ever had a child, I would never put my career before their life; I would never do what my mother did to me. Never.

Obviously, I decided not to impart this internal little rant to Guardian Croft. Instead, I took a breath, mentally slapped myself and spoke with sufficient politeness and truth. "It was not my choice to make."

"Of course – duty must always come before personal preference." I wasn't sure whether he'd misinterpreted or just decided to ignore my double-edged meaning; either way, I wasn't about to argue. After another quick sweep of my file, Guardian Croft placed it back on his desk, clasped his hands and looked me in the eye. "So, Guardian Hathaway: you will be part of my team. Mostly, you'll be manning the wards, sometimes helping out at the bases, but mostly just ward duty. However, events pose slight variation: each team is on a rotation where they will be helping in guarding at royal parties and such. Your first one will be the upcoming Ivashkov party precisely three weeks from now. Clear so far?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. It's a six day shift, but sometimes you may be required to work Sundays. We meet at Base 34 on the upper-west side everyday at 06:00, but arriving early is always advisable. You have fully authorised and free excess to the gym facilities and are expected to maintain a constant level of health and fitness. Failing in doing this will not only result in your demise, but also the demise of those much more significant that you. Each shift is four hours long and you will always have three. Depending on the situation, shifts can be shifted and changed and it is always first-come, first-serve, which is way it is best to get there early. Set timetables are currently in the process of being made, but they need to be signed off by her royal highness and, frankly, she has more pressing matters than reshuffling guardian organisation." I thought I detected a bitterness in his tone as he said that, but had the sense enough to remain silent. Guardian Croft continued, telling me the dos and don'ts of our line of work and I must always remember to put the Moroi first in every situation.

 _They come first._

They really weren't joking when they said that – engraving it into our skulls so deep that if you were to strip away every thought and memory, that would be the last remaining one. I sat and listened, taking in every detail and every piece of information Guardian Croft gave me. In spite of his fading youth, he still seemed aged before his time – almost drained. But every so often there would be a change in his tone, a tiny spark of passion that could not be suppressed. That made me smile. When he finished, he asked me whether I had any questions of my own.

I asked if I could have a map.

That made him smile a little and he printed me a copy of the blueprints of the Royal Court, along with handing me my room key and an issued pager with instructions on how to use it. I thanked him and left shortly after, passing another young girl waiting for her briefing. I gave her a quick smile, but her face remained void of emotion as she looked towards me before walking in.

 _Rude._ I thought. I laughed inwardly, externally shaking my head as I turned the corridor and made my way back where I had come. Thankfully, my memory served well and I was able to trek back to where Emyl and I had originally parted without having to unfold my extensive map and spend two hours just working out where I was. I decided that it would be best to learn this quickly which effectively declared what I would be doing for the rest of the day.

"Hathaway?" I skidded to a halt, not at the sound of my name, but of the voice that it came from. Every ounce of my body began desperately pleading that the voice would go away if I remained facing away. Alas, I had no such luck. "Janine fucking Hathaway!" My face contorted into a scowl and I lashed my body round to face the caller.

Behold – Tristan Drozdov: manipulative, cowardly, high-school tormentor who had the same unpleasant disposition as a bloody Strigoi. To give some perspective, I would _happily_ take a full-front Strigoi attack over spending three seconds with this childish twat. Hell, I'd even prefer to talk to Alistair Kravitz. He got a kick out of making people's lives hell and the worst part was that he thought he was untouchable because of his family. The sad truth was he was right. It wasn't as though the Academy didn't try to punish him for his many, _many,_ sins, but each time he would be bailed out by his arrogant father and over-zealous mother who believed him to be impossible of any wrong-doing.

And, unfortunately for me, my stubborn, unyielding yet easily-angered nature made for excellent entertainment to his lordship. In the fifth grade, I had been stuck next to him in my maths class which was about as brutal as it sounds, especially since he had very little interest in the subject we were supposed to be studying. It was there when he learned of my character and found great amusement in pushing all of my buttons, just to see which ones would strike a nerve and give him a reaction. Eight years later, and he still hadn't grown out of it, or indeed, grown up all together.

"Tristan." I said, smiling sickly as he approached with his band of ever so merry men. Luke Voda and Charlie Archer used to hang to Tristan like the plague and I was absolutely thrilled to see that that had not changed.

"Good God, what are you doing here?" Tristan said with his naturally slurred and muffled tone making him sound like he was suffering from a permanent cold.

"Working." I replied.

Why that one word was funny, I could not tell you. But it was apparently hysterical to the three Moroi in front of me who lost all composure as they erupting into laughter. I sighed and looked away, seriously wanting to just walk away, but knowing it would be completely futile. "Oh, she's 'working' now, lads." Tristan informed his posse which seemed to provoke another round of laughter.

I crossed my arms over and stood there tapping my foot, "Quite finished?" I asked and their laughter died down.

Once he had fully regained his usual state, Tristan spoke again: "Oh, I see that you have not changed one bit." He stated. "Just the same uptight, little loner. Still a virgin I take it?"

I was in no way going to give him an answer to that. With one final sigh, I turned on my heels and began walking away. I was vaguely aware of the mantra: _they come first; they come first; they come first_ hissing away in my head, but I think the sheer fact that I had restrained myself from punching him in the face was something to be marvelled at.

As predicted, Tristan wouldn't just let me go so chased on after me, jumping in front of me. He knew better than to lay a hand on me; I could still see the disfigured thumb that came as a result of it. "Hey, where are you going? I ain't done talking."

"Really? That's unfortunate because I am." I made to move around him.

He blocked my path with a side step. "Now, now – that is no way to speak to your superiors. Show a little respect."

 _Respect is earned to self-absorbed dick!_ "If you don't like the way I speak to you, I won't speak to you at all." I said and made to move again only to be blocked.

"I told you, I wasn't done talking." He replied with a growl.

"And I said I was. Let me go."

"No."

"No?"

"Yeah."

I smiled. "Thanking you." I said, making to move round him again.

It took him a moment to realise his mistake. "Wait, that's not what I meant."

"Well, it's what you said." I pointed out. "Look, just go and bother someone else. I am really not in the mood."

The self-absorbed grin returned, "Well, maybe I can get you in the mood..."

"Oh, for the love of-!" I exclaimed, pushing past him but not getting very far as Luke and Charlie blocked my path. "Right, what do you want?" I said turning back to the leader of this infuriating pack.

Tristan just shrugged. "To talk. Catch up. We're maths buddies, remember? How are things going?"

"Fantastic. Now, can you let me leave?"

"But you haven't asked how I'm doing."

"That's because I don't care."

"That's not very polite. I'm sure your supervisors will not be pleased to hear you are not being very nice to the people you are supposed to be protecting." He said with a pout. I gritted my teeth indignantly before I spoke again.

"How are you, Mr Drozdov-"

" _Lord_ Drozdov."

"How are you, _Lord_ Drozdov?" I corrected with an indisputable temper.

He smiled, pondering over his answer. "Well, I'm not too bad. I mean, I could be better. You wouldn't believe the rudeness I have had to put up with this afternoon."

"How awful for you. Though are you sure it wasn't deserved." I responded curtly.

"I have been nothing but a perfect gentleman."

"Really? Because a gentleman wouldn't keep a lady against her will."

"Ha! You think you are a lady!" he roared in laughter and I bit my tongue to hold back any further comment. "Oh, I forgot how much fun it is talking to you."

"Glad to be of service." I muttered sarcastically.

"I bet you are." He winked and I resisted yet another urge to slap him.

"Right, now that we have 'caught up', I'd like to get back to my life now, so: bye." I said and made to leave, again, but was, again, stopped.

"Life!? What life?" he exclaimed, "Janine Hathaway doesn't have a life."

"Well, I think that is a matter of opinion." I moved to pass him. He blocked. I was now seriously struggling not to hurt him. "Let me go."

He seemed taken aback by my assertion to the point he found it comical, "I'm sorry, did you just give me an order?"

"No, I asked you to let me leave."

"Oh, to me it sounded very much lik-"

"The lady has asked to leave," a new voice joined the conversation and I was shocked beyond all belief when I looked round to discover who it was and met his blazingly intimidating gaze.

Ibrahim.

Tristan seemed unaffected by his heavy presence but I remained steadfast in my astonishment of the Moroi who stood not three feet away, casually with his hands in the pockets of his suit. The former Moroi snorted before clearing his throat and regaining some composure. "Sorry, and who are you?" Tristan asked, giggling as he did.

I snapped my head round from where it had been facing Ibrahim and glared at Tristan, really, _really_ wanted to punch him right in his stupid face. Fuck propriety. He was a horrible person and I would not allow him to belittle or mock another person, especially if it was on my account, like a demonic child who thinks he has definitive power because he has the best shoes or something about as pitiable.

Ibrahim, however, remained as cool and as collected as ever. He seemed bored with Tristan's juvenile behaviour yet there was a glint of amusement in his eyes as he spoke, " _I_ am someone who knows exactly what happened at the Zeklos Yuletide ski retreat." Tristan lost all colour in his face and he froze in horror and the amusement in Ibrahim's eyes had down spread to the rest of his features. "Now, how unfortunate would it be if that little indiscretion were to make itself known around the circles of higher society. Dear Tatiana does adore gossip."

Tristan now looked sick at the thought to the point that water began to fill his eyes. He looked nervously at Ibrahim whose expression had retracted its original humour and replaced it with a menacing glare. "Come on, lads. Let's go." He said shakily which caused his posse to look at one another with confusion.

Ibrahim, evidently pleased, allowed a smile to seek onto his lips but the menace remained. "An excellent choice, Mr Drozdov."

Tristan didn't even bother correcting Ibrahim and I don't think I have ever seen anyone move faster away from something in all 18 years of my life. Within a blink, he had darted around the corner and I was left gobsmacked at what had just happened.

"My, my, Guardian Hathaway: first I find you standing alone, next with the worst that our species has to offer? You really aren't good at this 'acquaintance' thing." Ibrahim chuckled as he too observed Tristan's frantic escape.

Rekindling my earlier flare, I turned back to Ibrahim forcefully and glared, "I had that under control."

"Sure you did." He replied, though not at all agreeing with me.

My glare increased. "I did. And I don't appreciate you butting in. I can fight my own battles."

"You know, most people would say thank you." He inclined his head as if he were conducting a deeper assessment of the object in front of him.

That object being a very pissed off me. "Yeah, well: I'm not most people." And with that, I stormed away. Having already spent five minutes with Tristan Drozdov, to then have to deal with another stuck-up Moroi was just a step too far. It wasn't the fact that this Moroi was Ibrahim, it was the fact that it was _he_ who managed to get Tristan to go away. _No-one_ fights my battles for me. That is something I pride myself on; I don't have many virtues, but I am good with a stake and I would not allow some Moroi – who was still very much a stranger to me and in both of the two encounters I had with said Moroi left me feeling either angry or uncomfortable – to take that away from me. What if word got out that Janine Hathaway is too weak to stand up for herself and has to be saved like some pathetic damsel in some damned children's book!? I could wave goodbye to any effort to be a good guardian. I would be labelled as weak; as a coward. No. I would not allow that. I can't allow that.

Clearly, I needed to stay well away from this Ibrahim Mazur.

* * *

 **Hello my dear comrades in Comrade.**

 **A very happy Easter to you all! Sorry it's a bit late :3 I am writing to you from my wonderful hometown of Edinburgh! :D Ah, surrounded by the authentic tones of Scotland makes writing for Janine all the more fun xD Sorry, I am a little stressed out here. I am supposed to be on holiday yet find myself desperately trying not to fail maths xD Haha, oh the trials of A Level! Anyone any good at C3?**

 **Anyways, how are we liking the story so far guys? Like it? Love it? Hate it? When I first read the VA series, I was really interested by Janine. Since she wasn't as developed as some of the other characters, it gave a little leeway for her back-story and her inner personality which is why I am actually having quite a lot of fun writing for her xD From the books, it is clear that she is driven so I am going with that and giving her some quite feminist qualities, so let me know what you think on that.**

 **Also, I couldn't resist putting in Hans. He will be making a regular appearance and its going to be fun to draw parallels between his relationship with Janine and his relationship with Rose in the VA series. I am going to try and integrate more of the VA characters as I go. Tatiana will defo make a début, but hopefully I'll be able to get some more in as well.**

 **Any suggestions or ideas are heartily welcomed. I have pretty much got the whole plot sorted, but if there is anything you guys would like to see, I'll be happy to try and include :)**

 **As ever, all the very best  
Mariarty **


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Academy or anything surrounding it (but I do own this plot :D)**

* * *

JPOV

It was dawn before I would've liked. I could hear the relentless and unyielding buzz of my alarm and instinctively buried myself deeper into my pillow. When the buzzing became shriller and louder, I saw the futility and decided to get up, groaning first before smacking the bloody thing with my hand.

I had never liked mornings.

I pushed myself out of my bed and began changing into my gear. My uniform had arrived, along with strict washing and maintaining instructions, the night before. I considered putting it on, just so that when I went to the gym I'd get practise fighting and moving in the fabric, but decided against it. Shoving the neatly ironed black and white outfit into my gym bag, I put on my leggings and tank-top before making my way to the gym.

Unsurprisingly, there weren't many people up at 04:30 am. That didn't bother me. In fact, I was almost thankful for the peace. Besides, solitude allowed for absolutely no distractions, which in turn made for perfect training time. That time, I used to the full, easing open the door and immediately starting on my routine. It was one I had developed in the latter years of my education and something I did every morning without fail. In spite of the change of environment, that particular habit was about to leave my company.

And so, I pressed on: push-ups, squats, burpees, laps, sparring: hell, I even beat my record on the plank. I had always found great solace in training. It was almost an escape for me – like the world and all its tainted hope and tribulation just seeped away with every right hook at a punching bag. It was 05:15 before I knew it and I thought it best to embark on my trek now having already envisaged my getting lost along the way.

Surprisingly, I did not get lost. I quickly changed into my uniform and was approaching Guardian Base 34 within fifteen minutes. It wasn't anything fancy: a small, isolated hut located a good 300m away from the Court complex. Each Base was strategically positioned along the ward perimeter to ensure the safety of both the royal and non-royal inhabitants. A single Senior Guardian was assigned to each base with a team of around a dozen or so, who alternated on shifts. I had gotten all this information from my own Senior Guardian, namely Croft, and had spent most of my evening (and if I'm being completely honest, most of Harriet and mine's shopping trip yesterday afternoon) revising every detail on how the system worked. I was not the type of person who would just 'wing it'. No: I much preferred to have a solid and clear course of action that could be followed and any form of spontaneity was to be avoided at all costs.

"Hathaway." I jumped at the sound of my name. Turning myself in the dampness of the fresh morning dew I met the frowning face of Guardian Croft as he approached the hut tossing an apple in his right hand. "What are you doing?" he asked.

I frowned. "You said to get here early..."

He quirked an eyebrow and his lips curled ever so slightly in amusement. "Touché." He inclined his head and gestured for me to follow him into the now opened hut. I obliged but still was frowning.

The inside of the hut was about as enticing as the out but at least there was central heating. Guardian Croft swung his jacket and bag up on an empty hook and gestured I do the same before pulling a schedule out of a metallic filing cabinet that resided in the back corner of the hut and dumping it on the large table that occupied the centre of settlement.

"So," he said after opening up the ring-binder. "Since you're the first here you get first pick." He swivelled the binder towards me, giving me a clear view of the timetable that was currently void of any names. The day had been divided into 6 'periods', the first starting at 06:00 and ending at 10:00 and the rest following similarly after:

06:00 – 10:00 Period 1  
10:00 – 14:00 Period 2  
14:00 – 18:00 Period 3  
18:00 – 22:00 Period 4  
22:00 – 02:00 Period 5  
02:00 – 06:00 Period 6

I scanned the timetable carefully before looking back at Guardian Croft. "Any recommendations?"

He smiled. "First, third and fifth. That's the ones most people are after, but some prefer others. Just don't get too comfortable with the ones you pick because they can change within a day." He said with an ever growing grin.

I looked down again and shrugged. "Alright: first, third and fifth."

"Excellent." He began writing my name in the binder when the door flew open.

"First, third and fifth!" The man who strode quickly through the violently opened door exclaimed.

"And good morning to you too, Harrison." Guardian Croft replied, not looking up from the task in front of him.

The man – Harrison – gazed at me with a somewhat dazed expression. His eyebrows were raised so that his forehead was scrunched. He was of average height and could not have been above twenty-five but he seemed equipped enough to know what he was doing. He had piercingly blue eyes and a scar that ran straight across the left side of his face which he – in one of our earlier shifts together – told me was from a legendary Strigoi attack in the Montana woodland. But I later found out it was from when he accidently run into a tree and one of the branches had left that scar on his face.

"Hello," he said, still with eyebrows high.

I nodded stiffly. "Good morning."

He lowered one and turned to Guardian Croft who had maintained the aura of disinterest throughout this little encounter. "Who's the newbee?"

Finally, Croft looked up from his writing and met Harrison's gaze. "This is Guardian Janine Hathaway. Hathaway, meet Guardian Andrew Harrison."

Harrison rolled his eyes. "Please, call me Drew. Everyone _else_ does." He said glaring over at Croft who merely smirked.

"Everyone _else_ isn't your boss." Croft quipped, taking a bite out of his apple.

Harrison turned back to me, "Look at him, all that power is going to his little head." I smiled as Croft resumed his bored expression. Harrison seemed to take this as a win and rested himself casually against the central table. I remained at the edge, still a little on edge at the whole prospect of my first day. "So, Janine Hathaway: what do they call you?"

I blinked. "Pardon?"

"Nicknames. If I'm Drew, who are you?" he spoke again before I had the chance to respond. "Oh, I'm a poet and I know it!"

I saw Croft roll his eyes and I could not help my lips curling upward. "I'm just Janine Hathaway." I said with a shrug. I had never had a nickname. Unless, you counted Emyl calling me 'Jenny', but that was only because he got my name wrong the first time we met and it remained as a sort of running gag.

"What? No nickname?" he said, the eyebrows up again.

"Nope."

"But, everyone has a nickname. Why don't we make one up: like...Lightening-Hathaway."

This time I raised my eyebrows.

"Congratulations, Harrison. This is a new low for you." Croft commented, tossing his finished apple in the rubbish bin next to the door.

Drew, on the other hand, just looked offended. "Excuse me; I'll have you know I'd love to be Lightening-Hathaway. It sounds like..."

"...a race horse." Croft finished.

Drew smirked. "Yes, a majestic stallion, nay mare. You'd be the strength of the regiment – the oncoming storm. Yes! We could call you The Storm." He said winking over at me.

"Wonderful. Does that then make you Wolverine and me Professor X?" Croft asked, folding his arms over his chest.

"Hey, don't mock the X-Men – they are brilliant." Drew defended.

"If you say so." Croft said shaking his head.

Drew now looked even more offended than before. "What on-how can you not like X-Men! Janine, please tell me you like them."

Suddenly all eyes were on me and I felt quite uncomfortable. "They're pretty cool." I replied awkwardly and Drew clapped loudly.

"Ha!" he exclaimed. "Thank you, Janine, for having taste."

"Who has taste?" a new voice joined the room. And so, it went on. I was slowly introduced to the Guardians in our unit. Ruth Gwynn was the new voice who joined the party and I immediately liked her; she was strong, independent and took no shit from anyone – including Croft and Drew. She too bagged the first, third and fifth shifts and made it her personal mission to make sure Drew behaved himself, not just around me but as a general rule. And so, this became my routine. Croft had told me not to get used to the shift schedule that I had, but it became clear that it wasn't going to change. Apparently, in spite of the option of changing it around, most of the guardians in Unit 34 seemed contented with their lot, like begrudging school children upon establishing a seating plan for the rest of the year. In total, there were fifteen guardians – including Croft – in the team. They originally had fourteen but two was reassigned to another team and three 'newbees' – including myself and two others who attended St Vladimir's, but whom I had never spoken to – replaced them.

For the most part, I was working with Drew and Ruth, with some others alternating in and out of our slots. They were lovely, a real credit to our profession and made the tedious and uneventful perimeter shifts slightly more bearable, but there was a small part of me – and I would never admit it to the smug bastard – who missed Emyl. The trouble with having a lack of friends is that when you do acquire one, you get particularly attached. Both Emyl and Harriet were such examples of this and it did make me a little upset that it was Ruth and Drew instead of them. I mean, meeting up with them daily was great, but it wasn't quite the same a working together. But I couldn't complain: Julia was always inviting me round for dinner with the family and it really was great to spend some time with Harriet and Emyl and that was something I was never going to take for granted.

However, within about a week of my life at Court something I already knew existed became very apparent: and that was the divide. By that I mean the divide between the Royal Moroi and everyone they considered beneath them, which was – coincidently – everyone else. Especially the dhampirs. Whilst Julia Conta had opened her house and kitchen to almost all her dhampir staff (and to me), she truly was in the minority when it came to achieving a sense of equality. Not a day went passed in which I was not disparaged, belittled or sneered upon by someone who deemed themselves higher in the social food chain that was Court society.

And one particular individual's torture trumped the rest.

It wasn't Tristan – _thank the Lord!_ I say so as it had to have been some miracle from said Lord that managed to keep him away. No, the person to whom I refer was the delightful Mr Alastair Kravitz. Whilst not technically being Royal, or actually being particularly rude to me, he was relentless in his quest to win my approval; to be perfectly honest, I really thought he would just bugger off when I so uncivilly scorned him on our first meeting. Apparently, he was not so easily repulsed. In fact, he almost seemed more committed to the cause, which was unfortunate for not only myself, but Emyl too. In spite of Alastair's attempts to charm me into a change of opinion, his charm did not quite extend to my 6"3" friend who came to bail me out whenever the Moroi got too close. But I could not thank Emyl enough – Alastair was definitely someone you could only deal with in controlled doses.

 _Red 5 to Red Leader, over._

My radio buzzed against my hip, effectively snapping me out of my daydream. It was the start of the fifth period (definitely my least favourite) and I had entered my third week on the job: the boredom was really starting to set in. It was dark, I was cold and nothing ever happened. Like literally, nothing. I'd see a squirrel in a tree and immediately dart for my stake. It wasn't as though I was wishing for a Strigoi attack, just really anything to break this inactivity.

Funny the academy didn't mention this part in their training curriculum, huh?

 _Red 5 standing by, over._

I smiled as the radio buzzed again and Drew's voice broke the insufferable silence.

 _Harrison, please keep this line clear for emergencies._

That was Guardian Croft. I think even he would have to admit that the likelihood for what would be construed as 'emergency' was about the same as a lightning bolt striking an individual ant.

 _Copy that...over._

There was a long pause before the crackling of the radio came back on.

 _Ten green bottles sitting on the wall. Ten green bottles sitting on the wall. And if one green bottle should accidently fall, there'll be nine-_

 _Drew, shut the fuck up!_

 _Language, Gwynn._

 _Sorry, sir._

 _Hey, Ruthie._

 _Andrea..._

 _What you wearing to the Ivashkov sham on Friday?_

 _Uh...my uniform. Duh._

 _What! Are we not allowed to dress up!?_

 _No, Harrison, you are not._

 _Jesus Christ!_

 _I'm sorry, when have we ever been allowed to dress up?_

 _Don't you remember that Zeklos bash last summer?_

 _Uh...no..._

 _That it because you were both allowed to drink at that party, Gwynn._

 _Oh...yeah..._

 _Ah, love me an open bar._

 _Indeed...And which part of this conversation is an emergency, Harrison?_

 _Ah, sorry, sir._

 _Mhmm._

There was another long pause.

 _Nine green bottles sitting on the wall..._

 _For fuck sake! Can I slap him?_

As exciting as this conversation was, and – trust me – at half ten at night when I was on my last leg of patience this was about as good as it got, my attention was diverted by something much more alarming.

Movement.

At first, I thought I had dreamt it. Then, I came to the sad conclusion that it was probably that damned squirrel. But when I saw it again, there was no doubt that it was human. Or vampire...

I put the radio back against my hip and wrapped my fingers around the hilt of my stake. The metal felt cool, frozen by the falling temperature around me and chilling with the lack of use. I grasped it and edged forward, each step I took as silent as the dead. I could see the markers for the ward boundaries and continued to edge towards their own edge, each move a made was accompanied by my further tension and deeper concentration. No Strigoi in its right mind would come this close to the Royal Court. Then again, when was a Strigoi ever in its right mind?

I moved slowly into the shadow cast by a large oak and watched as the darkened abyss shifted. I opened all my senses and blocked out any lingering thoughts – completely focused on what was about to occur. I object moved again and this time came closer to the wards. I scouted the area and determined that there was only one: taller than me, of course, and strongly built, but clearly quite young as it was making little effort to hide its presence and no elder Strigoi would be stupid enough to come this close to quite possibly the most heavily guarded establishment in the world unless they were on a suicide mission.

The thing got closer. I braced myself for attack: palm firmly wrapped around my stake, knees bent into a slight crouch and eyes fixed on the beast like a waiting lioness who silently stalked her prey. The blackened figure came into sight, breaking away from the tree-line, and I acted: pouncing from my hiding place and slamming the creature to the ground. My stake unsheathed and locked onto the creature's heart before I saw the two brown eyes.

 _Holy shit._

I had attacked a Moroi. A fucking Moroi. Had this horrific inactivity permanently scarred my judgement? How could I have got this so wrong? I dropped the stake immediately. My eyes widened in absolute horror over my actions.

"Oh my God, I am so sorry!" I said as I scrambled off the poor man before attempting to help him to his feet.

I honestly thought he was going to kill me. Shout at me if nothing else. What I did not expect was a laughing fit. He lay with his back against the dampened grass locked in a fit of hysteria. He gladly accepted my help up and when I took in his features, the humiliation only grew.

"My, my, Guardian Hathaway: you can really pack a punch. You certainly don't need anyone else fighting your battles." He said with a grin.

I, however, remained in a profound state of shock. "Mr Mazur, please forgive m-"

Ibrahim cut me off. "Don't worry yourself. I actually quite enjoyed it. Strong, feisty woman on top of me: very arousing." He said with a wink.

I snapped out of my shock and glared at him for that comment before I realised he was joking. That only made me more irritated. "What are you doing out here?"

"Can one not enjoy one's own surroundings?" he asked in mock innocence.

My glare increased. "Outside the wards." I quipped.

"I do not care to be locked up and constrained into convention."

"You could have been killed!" I threw my arms up in the air in anger.

He smiled. "I am touched by your concern, Guardian Hathaway."

"Unbelievable."

He grinned. "I do try." I huffed and stormed around him, picking up my stake that I had dropped upon realising my mistake. I brushed off the wet grass that had stuck itself to the metal, acutely aware that I was being watched.

"What are you still doing here?" I demanded a little more harshly than perhaps I had intended.

Ibrahim, clearly now used to my temper, merely shrugged. "Well, as you so eloquently put it: I could be killed. Therefore, I am putting myself in what I deem to be the safest position."

"You are standing in an open field in the middle of the night." I stated flatly, faulting his logic.

He seemed unaffected, however. "I'm standing with you." I looked up to see if he was joking, but the countenance conveyed the unnerving notion that he was deadly serious. I suddenly found myself utterly lost for a response as I continued to stare at him, trying to work out what on Earth was going on inside his head. Whilst I was no expert on the matter, I had become quite good at reading people, but for the life of me, I could not work out Ibrahim Mazur and it irritated me beyond belief. In my silence, I noticed he too was studying me as his expression mirrored my own. I am not entirely sure how long we just stood there like we were stuck in some hideous stalemate, trying to work out what one another was thinking. Eventually, though, we were interrupted by the radio again.

 _Storm, are you still alive?_

I broke eye contact and answered my colleague. "Yeah, all good."

 _Ah, goodo. Just making sure._

I smiled as I could picture perfectly the separate reactions to that comment from both Croft and Ruth. The former would have his face contorted into some sort of disapproving grimace whilst the latter would sport the exhausted eye roll. I put the radio back in its pouch before looking back at Ibrahim, whose signature smirk had once again reared its head.

"Storm?" he said with a quirked eyebrow.

"It's what he calls me – I don't get it either." I clarified with a sigh.

"No, I like it: very well suited."

"Thank...you..." I replied awkwardly, not quite sure how to interpret that one.

He frowned, inclining his head upon hearing my fragmented response. "You aren't complimented often." It was a statement rather than a question; I felt it was probably him just thinking out loud but even still, it made me blush. His smirk had gone and was replaced with a lighter, softer smile. It was barely visible in the moonlight, but even without sufficient lighting, I saw how it flattered his features.

"You should probably go inside, Mr Mazur." I said, nodding in the general direction of Court in a further attempt to hide my bashfulness.

"Please, do call Ibrahim. My mother gave it to me for a reason." He said, making no effort to leave and instead taking a step closer to me but turning to face the silver face of the glowing moon. "Do you see that, Guardian Hathaway?"

I looked at him sceptically. "The moon?"

"Aye." He replied, attempting to mimic my accent. I shook my head and he smiled before turning back. "So many come out at night to watch the stars: see how they shine and sparkle like rays of sunshine against still water. But don't you see, it is the moon the shines the brightest. Everything else pales in comparison." He broke his gaze and met my own as I continued to eye him warily. "You're right, I best go inside. It was a pleasure, as ever. Good night, _Guardian_ Hathaway." He said with a little bow.

"Good night, Mr-" I cut myself off when I saw his challenging eyebrow. Smiling and shaking my head lightly, I corrected myself. "Good night, Ibrahim." He grinned, satisfied, and bowed again before beginning his trek back to Court. I watched him leave with an odd mix of emotions churning in my stomach. Rather ironically like a storm. Two parts of me were at war: one said I was relieved at his leaving whilst the other longed for him to come back. This not only added confusion the cocktail of emotions that I was experiencing right now, but also fear. That fear coming as a direct result from that part of me that longed for him to come back. I mean, what was wrong with me? I couldn't be pining over some charismatic Moroi in a suit (which, if you asked me, was an odd choice of attire for an evening walk). No. Whatever this...this... _sentiment_ was, it needed to be shut down immediately. Jesus Christ, Hathaway, are you going to turn to a puddle of goo every time some member of the opposite sex compliments you.

But he seemed to actually mean it: a rare oddity amongst their species.

Great. Now I was talking to myself.

I exhaled loudly and looked at my watch, surprised to see that I only had an hour and a half left of my shift. My gaze returned to its surveillance before catching a glimpse of the glowing moon against the black abyss. As soon as I felt my lips begin to curl into a smile, I mentally slapped myself and forced my eyes to look elsewhere.

Damn. I blame the boredom for this lapse in self-control and, frankly, dignity. Well, at least I was going off timetable of Friday and if ever there was to be a little bit of drama, action and fun, it would definitely occur at an Ivashkov party...

* * *

 **Hello my dear comrades in Comrade**

 **Ah, Janine in a state of emotional confusion. Gotta love it ;) What do you think? Like it? Love it? Hate it?**

 **I am quite pleased with myself at the minute – I managed to write this entire chapter in one day! It usually takes me about a week, but considering it took me about a week to get started, I think this balances out xD**

 **Speaking of emotional states, Janine is not the only one currently suffering. I am currently in a bit of a fragile state seeing as all the Unis I am thinking about applying to want three As or two As and a ruddy A*. At A level! I'm sorry to burden you with my personal grievances, but I think writing for me has become some sort of therapy exercise and I use it to vent. Everyone keeps telling me that I can get three As easy, but I am unfortunately graced with a naturally worried disposition which means however many times someone compliments or reassures me, I don't believe them. This is a quality, as I'm sure you no doubt spotted, I have thrust upon Janine xD I think just for support really xD**

 **Ah, sorry about that. How has your week been? Hopefully not as emotional as my own although I did manage to spend all of today drawing :D I don't get to do it very often, but I decided to today and it was actually a lot of fun. I drew all my favourite actors :) Danila is there and looking rather good, but I feel that my Fassbender trumps the lot ;)**

 **It's the little things, is it not? :P**

 **As ever, here's wishing you all the best  
Mariarty**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Academy or anything surrounding it (but I do own this plot :D)**

* * *

JPOV

And so began the fateful day: the Ivashkov Party. To be completely honest, I wasn't exactly sure what they were celebrating. I had asked Emyl, but he just said it was probably an excuse for them to show off how much better they were at throwing a party since the Contas had just done one four weeks prior for their titled member. Whatever it was, I was grateful for the lie in.

Or would-be lie in, as it turned out.

"Janine! Janine! Get up! Janine!" I shot up, bold and awake, at the sound of the relentless banging against my door.

I flew out of my bed and swung open the door in a state of panic. "Harriet! What it is? What's wrong?"

She, against my expectations, seemed completely unharmed. In fact, she appeared at my threshold completely dressed and carrying a large bag over her right shoulder. "We need to get ready for the Ivashkov party." She said inviting herself in. I remained by the door for a moment as I tried to process the situation. Shutting it slowly, I turned to see my friend flick on the light, dump her bag on the bed and wander to the kitchen to make some coffee.

"Uh, Harriet..." I said after peeling my gaze away from the clock that read 05:34. "Isn't it a little early..."

Harriet shook her head and I watched with caution as she chugged back every drop of the freshly boiled coffee, not seeming to care that it was scalding her mouth. "No, no, not at all. Oh, Janine, you have no idea how competitive these royals are. You have to be so prepared. I thought they'd all be nice, but all they seem to do is...well, not be nice. But that's okay – I'm probably just misreading them. Yes! That's it! I'm sure the absolutely lovely."

I walked over to my friend and took the coffee jug out of her hand. "I think you've had enough there."

She smiled sheepishly before pulling me into a hug. "Oh, Janine. I've missed you so much."

I felt a pang of sadness pulse through my body and I hugged her tighter. "You only saw me yesterday." I reminded, but perhaps not just her.

"I know, but it's not the same." She sighed as she pulled back and I could see the water fill her blue eyes. "Oh, look at me! I am whining like a thirteen year old at...oh my God! It's twenty to six! A.M!"

I couldn't help it, I burst out laughing. Harriet stared in horror a little longer before succumbing to her own hysterics. We flopped down onto my bed and just lay there laughing for a while.

"Hey! Keep it down in there!" someone yelled, banging against the wall.

That only made us laugh more.

"Your room isn't soundproofed?" Harriet asked between giggles as we began to calm ourselves down.

I shook my head. "I don't think we have the budget for such luxury."

"I think some of the people here could benefit in losing some of their budget." Harriet muttered.

My jaw dropped. "Harriet Conta: that is the most unkind thing I have ever heard come out your mouth!" She scowled over at me and I snorted very unattractively. "Just kidding."

She rolled her eyes and smiled. "No you're not."

"You know me so well." I said with a wink.

She laughed again. "You know, I ran into Tristan Drozdov the other day."

"No wonder you're so wound up."

"Ha ha," she replied sarcastically, shoving me lightly before inhaling loudly, "Oh my God, did you hear what he did? It is horrible! According to Jennifer and Lila, he was caught last year visiting a commune whilst on holiday and paying for...company... His parents have apparently got him permanently grounded and never let him out of their sight."

I frowned. "Was this on a Zeklos ski trip?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"No reason." I said a little too quickly. I shifted my body as I started to feel a little uncomfortable before I realised that I was partially lying on Harriet's gigantic bag. I pulled it out and examined its contents. I looked over at Harriet pointedly. "You know, I'm not actually invited to this party – just staffing it."

"Oh, come on, Janine. Pretty please. It'll be boring if it is just me trying on stuff." She sat up and batted her eyelids in an attempt at persuasion. I sat up and just raised an eyebrow, which she took to mean I had consented and began grinning widely.

"Alright, fine." I grumbled.

Her response was a squeal and she began showing me everything that she had brought with her, which was _a lot_. I don't think anyone could rival Harriet for her ability to really, _really_ pack a bag. We spent the morning – after scavenging my apartment for any sign of something that could be regarded as breakfast – going through dresses and shoes and whatever else it was that people wear to a party. Honestly, this one gig seemed to be more of a faff than the St Vladimir's Graduation Ball. I was just glad I didn't have to go through it again.

However, I wasn't getting let off that easily.

Harriet managed to squeeze me into quite a few dresses just so she wasn't the only one having all then 'fun'. Not only that, but she had – quite slyly if you ask me – managed to book a place for the pair of us at the Court Spa which I was having mixed feelings over. Regardless though, I obliged and it was in the afternoon so I had time to mentally prepare myself for such a venture.

Just before midday we decided to get some lunch. Leaving the confined of my apartment, Harriet texted Emyl to meet us in one of the many cafes at Court before I had to rush off to a 13:00 meeting. We arrived to see Emyl already sitting there with a coffee in his hand, a cake on the table and a large grin on his face.

"Hath-a-way!" he cheered as he caught our eyes. Harriet giggled gleefully and ran into her guardian's arms for the compulsory Harriet-hug, as it was known, whilst I just rolled my eyes.

"Hey, Burlatsky." I greeted with a smile.

Emyl relinquished Harriet and grinned over at me. "Come on, Jenny. You know you want to." He winked as he opened his arms out, expecting me to embrace him with the same enthusiasm as our dear friend.

I narrowed my eyes and crossed my arms over my chest, stubbornly not giving in to which he just engulfed me anyway, picking me up and dumping me into the seat, evoking a fit of giggles from both himself and Harriet.

"Very funny."

Harriet and Emyl dumped themselves on the velvet cushion of the corner booth next to me. "I ordered you guys some coffee." Emyl said, picking up his own.

"Oh, thank you, Emyl." Harriet said with a bright smile.

"Yeah, thanks for that, but it better be quick; I have to meet up with Croft at one." I said a little begrudgingly.

"I swear: Croft sees more of you than you do." Emyl chuckled as he took a sip. I said nothing which he took to mean not denying it.

"So, are you staffing this party as well then?" I asked.

Emyl nodded. "I think all guardians have been roped into doing this one."

"Surely you guys will be allowed to join in." Harriet said with a frown. I glanced over to Emyl and saw him looking over to me. He shook his head ever so softly and I replied with a sad smile. "Anyway, Janine and I are going for a spa session at three today, so she will looked amazing for tonight."

Emyl turned to face her and gasped. "And _I_ wasn't invited!?"

I had to hold back my laughter as Harriet's face turned to one of horror. "Oh my God! Did you want to come? I can get you a place. I'm sorry. Please forgive me, Emyl. I didn't mean-" she cut herself off when she saw both Emyl and I's expressions. "Oh, right. Haha." She laughed nervously.

I, for the second time that day, couldn't stop the laughter that came out and Emyl joined in. Harriet scowled at us for a moment before she could no longer hold her straight face.

What a sight we must have been when the waiter came over to deliver our drinks.

After sorting ourselves out, Harriet and I went to order some food. She went for a salad whilst I played safe with a sandwich. At least if it did arrive late I could always eat it on the go. We sat and chatted for a while before the food arrived and then again before I had to go. I bid my friends farewell and left them in light conversation with one another, clearly just enjoying each other's company and not noticing or just ignoring the stares from the other Moroi present. I only noticed them on the way out and made an effort to glare and each one of them as I passed.

I walked through the open ground and back into the main complex to find Croft's office. Thankfully, I had now learnt how to get there which made for a slightly smoother journey than the first one. I wandered through the corridors, slowly eating the rest of my sandwich whilst contemplating my life so far. Today was the first 'day off', so to speak, that I had had and therefore the first time I had actually time to think about things. Sure I got breaks and time to see Harriet and Emyl in my usual working days, but there was something almost formulaic – robotic if you will – about it all. Was I happy with it?

I sighed and finished my sandwich, shaking my head of the thoughts that I realised wouldn't get me anywhere. I was a Guardian; I was not supposed to be thinking about my happiness. Instead, I decided to distract myself and actually take in some of the things around me. There was no denying that someone, somewhere, had gone to very great lengths to make this place convey an aura of unrivalled majesty. And it did: from the rich crimson carpet that floored everywhere to the artwork that adorned the walls. Each seemed only to emphasise the grandeur of the Royal Court. Even in the Guardian wing was a sight to behold. Granted, it didn't quite have the flora and the 18" portraits of various members of Royal society, but there was definitely a certain appeal in its simplicity. Not to mention that on the corridors in the third floor, the walls were lined with plaques and names of Guardians recognised for the heroism and for those who had fallen in the line of battle.

As I walked through the corridors of the third floor, admiring the names, I wondered if I'd ever make it up there. Highly unlikely, given my current track record for hurting _Moroi_ rather than Strigoi. Though in my defence it is only really been one and seriously: what was he doing outside the wards at half ten a night? Ibrahim Mazur was a complete mystery to me, but he was a mystery I was determined to solve. I doubted it would be easy, but I never backed away from a challenge.

" _La fiesta de Ivashkov empieza a las siete._ " My ears perked at the sound of his voice, knowing that I had heard it somewhere before. I slowed my pace and turned my head towards the sound and sure enough, Sergey Kravitz stood in an office talking on the phone, both dark and empty. I frowned and listened again as he continued his conversation in hushed tones, " _Si queremos hacer esto, lo hacemos esta noche. Claro? Muy bien, ahora..._ "

"Hathaway." I jumped round and saw Guardian Croft beckoning me into his office. I quickly scurried towards him and saw as he shook his head as I darted into his office without making eye contact.

Croft shut the door as I plonked myself down next to Ruth who smiled at my arrival. "Right, is everyone here?"

"Shit!" There was a thump outside before the door creaked open and Drew poked his head in. I bit my lip to stop whatever involuntary sound was about to escape them and I could see everyone else suppressing their sniggers. "Ah, sorry I'm late, sir."

Croft appeared indifferent to the current situation. "No, not at all. This is remarkably early for you, Harrison. Do, take a seat." He said flatly as Drew sat down next to me with a grimace across his face. "Right, now that we are _all_ here..." he stared at Drew pointedly, "...we need to go over the operation for tonight. For some of you, this is your first stunt like this so pay attention. Right, so..." and so he continued, going over every single possible detail about the event. We were informed over every exit, entrance, who was coming, where we'd be standing and most importantly, how to deal with a particular threat, be that living or otherwise. In short, we were told to deal with whatever it was as quickly and as quietly as possible, making sure we were causing as little disruption as possible to the actual event.

The event, in this case, being a very important one actually. Tatiana was in negotiations with fellow communities and royal sects around the globe and this was a peace summit of sorts. This meant that the guest list contained many an important and significant individual, particularly in the political department. Added to this, was the fact that Tatiana herself would be present at this gathering. This, naturally, caused Guardian Demort to go apeshit on security – putting almost every resource we had on defending the Queen and her honoured guests.

Those who weren't on duty where either abroad or comatose in the hospital.

And so, Croft made it absolutely clear that there were to be no 'screw ups' this evening. We were all on hall duty, meaning that we were to remain glued to the wall of the Great Hall and not to move unless one of the guests was in life-threatening danger. We were not to engage with any of the guests or indeed do anything that may draw attention to ourselves. And we most certainly were not allowed to sing 'Ten Green Bottles' over the radio system.

Croft explained that the personal Guardians would also be joining us as part of the Hall group but their priority would be their assigned Moroi, leaving us to cover everyone and anyone.

"Any questions?" Croft asked after concluding on his mission brief. No-one did have any questions, unsurprising considering all the information we had just been given was enough to make anyone go brain-numb. "Alright then, off you go. I'll see you at half six. Don't be late." He waved as off and we all made to leave when he spoke again. "Not you, Harrison..."

I saw Drew grimace again and sit back down in his seat with his arms folded across his chest. Ruth patted him on the shoulder and I offered him a sympathetic smile before we both left.

"Ah, I am going for a bath. What about you, Hathaway?" Ruth said with a sigh, stretching out her arms.

I smiled. "I've been booked in for a spa treatment."

Ruth froze and glanced over at me. "You what?"

"My friend Harriet Conta booked a spa session and signed me up too."

"Don't sound so unhappy – I'd kill for a spa day," she paused, "figuratively, of course."

I laughed. "Sure."

She grinned wickedly and bid me farewell as I made my way back to Harriet's house. I walked past the office where I saw Sergey earlier and curiosity got the better of me. I stepped towards the office and through the doorframe to find it empty. The light was still turned off and I could see a gentle layer of dust that covered the surfaces like fallen ash in the wake of an eruption. I surveyed the room and found nothing. Frowning, I made to leave, but my eyes lingered in the empty room. I felt a small pit begin to grow in my stomach, an almost sickly feeling that resided deep within me. I stared at the room and the room stared back: each shadow seemed alive, each creaking floorboard a moan like that of a sleeping hound in the dead of night.

 _Si queremos hacer esto, lo hacemos esta noche._

I bailed. Striding quickly out of the room and back into the open corridor, but in the process getting a glance of the name on the door:

 _Guardian N. Martyr_

I arrived at Harriet's home to find an interesting picture: Harriet, Emyl, Julia and Tamara were engaged in a game of Monopoly whilst Robert watched on with great amusement.

"Janine!" Harriet shouted gleefully as one of Julia's guardians opened the door.

"Good afternoon, Janine." Julia smiled after politely asking her guardian to let me in. "I think I need your help here; Harriet is clearing up the board!"

"You need help!?" Emyl exclaimed. "All I've got is the Old Kent Road! Bloody capitalism – hey, Janine, come help me start a revolution."

I smiled and sat down next to Robert. "Oh, you can have one of my streets." Harriet offered, picking up a random card.

Emyl looked up and smiled softly. "That's not quite how the game works."

"What, are you saying that there is no charity in capitalism?" Harriet countered with a raised eyebrow.

Emyl raised one of his own. "Touché." He said taking the card from her. "Ah-ha, now I can put a house on one of these brown squares."

"Oh dear, I think I'm done for," Tamara said as Emyl began assembling his small empire. "Anyone for a coffee?"

"I'd love one, darling," Robert replied.

"Oh, me too," Julia said before turning to the other guardian in the room. "Mathew, would you like any refreshments?"

"I'm fine, thank you."

"As long as you're sure," Julia turned to me, "Mathew was worse than you: I've only just got him to stop calling me 'milady'."

I smiled and saw as Mathew blushed a little. Uncharacteristically for monopoly, the little foursome managed to finish the game, with Harriet dominating the board and Emyl, in an amusing turn of events, in jail. After that, Harriet and I departed for our little spa session. Admittedly, it was not as bad as I thought and with Harriet's merry conversation, naturally completely oblivious to the male masseuse's flirtation, it was made all the more enjoyable. When we left, we decided that we needed ice-cream and so we made a quick stop by the parlour on the way back.

I parted with my friend and went back to my apartment to change. My compulsory guardian uniform had been ironed and somehow looked even smarter than usual. I put it on and stood by the mirror. The girl who looked back at me looked like me, but hidden in her expression was that of worry. I felt the nausea return and I looked away, making to leave I worried myself into actually being sick.

It was 18:25 when I arrived among the massive huddle of guardians on the greenery outside the Great Hall. I became quickly lost within the sea of black and white dhampirs, all waiting for Guardian Demort's address. In vain, I began scouting the area for anyone I knew. I saw other doing a similar thing and was glad for it. I all but gave up when my pager buzzed against me.

 _Look to your left_

I smiled down and looked left to see Ruth waving over at me. I made my way through the crowd and stood beside her.

"How was the spa?" she asked.

"Not too bad," I shrugged "How was the bath?"

" _Amazing_."

I chuckled and she grinned before we caught sight of Drew and beckoned him over just as Guardian Demort began to speak. His croaking French accent was barely projected through the swarm of black and white, but we got the message loud and clear: don't fuck up. After that anything but mild reminder, we were all ushered in and took our positions. Beside the Graduation Ball, I had never been to a party of this kind, and definitely not a royal one. But even with my limited experience I could tell the Ivashkovs had gone to some extreme lengths: the Great Hall had been draped in a mix of gold and red in just about every shade of the colour that existed velvet. The chandeliers that hung from the ceiling were lit and the light cast by the fire refracted through the diamonds, creating an orange sea in which the colours of the room blended together. The blood-red carpet that adorned the floor had been recently laid and surrounded a huge rectangular dance floor that had been polished so much that it shone just as well as those diamond chandeliers. The smell was intoxicating: sweet aromas of rich meat and produce that had been freshly conceived filled the air and hit me almost as soon as I entered the room. I took a lot of effort to stop my jaw dropping at the sight of the decorated hall, made all the more beautiful due to the fact that it was untouched and untainted.

I moved quickly over to my position: against one of the out pillars by one of the many exits that lead to the outside world. The Great Hall of the Royal Court was situated in the North Wing and its doors opened to an enclosed garden which too had underwent some serious decoration of a gold and white coordination, giving it a softer tone to the powerful and somewhat intimidating interior.

Standing boldly against my pillar, I surveyed the room, knowing that trying to locate anyone I knew once the party had actually began was a darn impossibility. I found Drew quite quickly; his large and clumsy frame was not easy to miss. He too was stationed by a pillar on my wall, but farther down, nearer the centre of the hall. Ruth was a little harder to find as she was on the wall opposite, but in the inner layer which made it a little easy. The architecture of the room allowed for two layers of infrastructure, separated by large columns whose stonework had been sufficiently suffocated by layers and layers of rich red velvet. The outer layer were right up against the main stone structure of the building (the stone, again, not to be seen) and were too lined with pillars, but only of a semi-circular nature as the other half was submerged in the decorated wall.

I couldn't find Croft or anyone else in the little team that made up our unit which unnerved me a lot more than it should have. I couldn't very well radio them as all the radios had been linked into one radio-wave so that if something were to occur, no guardian would be ignorant to the event. Thankfully, we still had our pagers; a fact I remembered only when mine buzzed as we began approaching the start time.

 _How you holding up there, Storm?_

I smiled upon reading the message.

 _I'm okay._

I typed quickly so as not to draw the attention of the stone-faced guardians around me.

 _Don't worry, you'll be fine. And if you start getting bored, just stick with the classic: nine-hundred and ninety-nine green bottles sitting on the wall..._

I stifled my laugh and put my pager back on my belt as I heard a loud echo pulse through the room.

The party had begun.

* * *

 **Hello my dear comrades in Comrade.**

 **Things are picking up... ;) I apologise for the filler nature of this chapter, but it is an important filler nonetheless. I am actually getting quite excited with this story, especially when I get to whip out the old Spanish GCSE skills – four years of studying not gone to waste over here :P**

 **Fear not, I have calmed down from the slight hysteria from the last chapter and will not be using you lovely folks as a venting tool :3 I'm back to school tomorrow so hopefully I shall regain some normality and stability in my life... (yeah, I don't believe it either xD)**

 **And to hbarker, all I can say is amen! xD Though, if I may, might I recommend Death Comes to Pemberley (tv show) because Mathew Rhys' Darcy is on point ;)**

 **Until the next time, here's wishing you all the best,  
Mariarty**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Academy or anything surrounding it (but I do own this plot :D)**

* * *

JPOV

The guests started flooding into the hall in waves, happily chatting away with one another without even sparing us a second glance. I managed to spot Harriet and her family quite quickly, smiling when I saw that she was wearing the pale, turquoise gown that I had seen earlier. She looked absolutely beautiful, in fact, they all did. Robert and Tamara were coordinated with their greens and Julia was sporting a fiery red which fitted right in with the décor of the room. Glancing past them I saw their guardians – Emyl amongst them, as well as Mathew – in their uniforms slowly drifting towards the inner circle of pillars or the walls to keep a distance between themselves and the Moroi, but to still keep an eye on them.

The rest of society was equally as stunning. It seemed the notion of an audience with the Queen was incentive enough for them to grasp at perfection as much as it was for us not to fuck up. Both men and women alike had evidently spent a tiresome amount of hours – probably starting the day just like Harriet at half five in the morning – just to appear utterly flawless and the result, as they'll be glad to hear, was extremely creditable.

I suddenly felt incredibly under-dressed.

But I suppose that was the point: I mean, I was supposed to have the same likeness and appearance as a standard issue shadow, but my sentiment was extended to the rest of the gathered party as soon as the huge, grand, double doors were opened again and the Queen herself glided in upon being announced. The room became silent in its awe as each member of the Moroi Court bowed upon her entry. I could see the Royal Guard flank her majesty and move with almost robotic tendencies to position themselves appropriately whilst Guardian Demort, who occupied the position just to the right of the gigantic, carved wooden doors, puffed his chest with an inexpressible pride that I genuinely thought would result in him exploding all over the assembled guests.

Meanwhile, Tatiana gave her address to the crowd, welcoming them all and to her esteemed guests from abroad. Her conclusion was met with a round of applause and the entire hall fell into a light hum of chatter. A soft piano melody accompanied this as an undertone, giving the whole event a pleasant aura.

I sighed, knowing that this would be my life for the next four/five hours. I stood and silently surveyed the room, looking for Harriet. I found her amongst a huddle of people, all of whom appeared about our age and spoke with a slightly over-dramatized sense of excitement. They were joking and gossiping and Harriet smiled sweetly and laughed at all the correct moments, but I could tell she was uncomfortable. Whenever she was put in a situation that left her uneasy and awkward, she would start fiddling with her hands and, whilst I knew she was trying to be discrete about it, I could see her fiddling from where I stood. I just wanted to dive in and save the poor girl from her discomfort and, looking past her shoulder, I could see Emyl felt the same. He was watching her like a hawk and I could see his expression harden every time her hands began fiddling again.

I tore my gaze away, knowing if I kept looking I would end up marching over and essentially ending my career there and then. I spotted Julia not too far away with Tamara; they were both engaged in conversation with other female Moroi and seemed relatively contented, though Julia did seem a little distracted. Understandable really; she probably was conscious that her daughter was currently enduring the rather unpleasant side of upper society.

An hour passed, and then another, yet the dynamic didn't change. But to be completely honest, I was actually starting to enjoy myself. It reminded me a little of my field experience back at St Vladimir's; not to mention how much more interesting my view was. There was no denying the beauty of the Court and its grounds, but at half past one in the morning on a cold February day, its appeal faltered a little. In watching the Moroi, however, I learnt a great deal about how they acted and more importantly, how they moved. For the most part, they remained in allotted groups which seemed to flow between one another like gentle currents in rivers. Added to this was a certain repetition which, when I noticed it, I decided to hypothesise means of attack through their weakest points and how they could be 1) prevented or 2) intercepted. I almost turned it into a game. I do realise it is a bit weird fantasising about the many different ways the people who you are supposed to be protecting could be attacked and killed by a group of the ravenous un-dead, but it was far more tolerable than _nine-hundred and ninety-nine green bottles._

"Janine!"

I froze. My whole body locked in a solid state of horror as I heard my name. I mentally begged that they weren't talking to me, that there was just another 'Janine' standing somewhere nearby. Alas, no such luck.

"You didn't tell me you were running this party, Kitty." Alastair Kravitz – in all his charismatic glory – came striding up towards me. I could see the other guardians around me looking over with varying expressions of confusion and disgust.

"All guardians are required to work tonight, Mr Kravitz." I said as steadily as I could, keeping my gaze fixed straight ahead of me rather than anywhere near him.

"I know, but it is still a pleasure seeing you," he said with a smile. My eyebrows were battling with an expression of confusion or a scowl, so instead I just frowned over at him. I had already stated the Moroi had done a fine job in making themselves look spectacular and Alastair was no exception: the tux he wore was perfectly fitted and did well in showing his naturally shaped figure. Even I had to admit, he was incredibly good-looking, a fact only spoiled by his character. It really just goes to show: you cannot have everything.

"Would you like to come outside with me?"

I blinked. "What?" His expression softened under light amusement as he repeated what I thought I heard him say, but ruled as completely inappropriate and fantastical, in the first place. Stumped beyond all reasonable doubt, all recollection of the English language left me. I barely managed a "why?" before I succumbed completely to my own state of astonishment.

Alastair, on the other hand, seemed as cool and as collected as ever and merely shrugged at my shocked expression. "Just to talk, have a chat – you know, like normal people do."

"I am on _duty,_ Mr Kravitz," I sternly reminded him as I glanced at the guardians standing around me. Thankfully, most remained completely indifferent to my present circumstance and I was grateful for the lack of appalled looks.

"I know," Alastair said, "I thought you'd like a break, perhaps a little fresh air. It is quite stuffy in here." He pointed out.

That, I could not fault him on, but it was completely beside the point. "That is not how this works." I all but growled, begging that he would take the hint and leave me be.

Sadly, he did not. "Not allowed! By who? Your supervisor? Which one is he?" he exclaimed, looking down the long line of guardians that were stationed against the wall. I still hadn't managed to locate Guardian Croft among the sea of bodies in the room, but I had a feeling he knew exactly where I was and, more importantly, would definitely notice if I just waltzed outside with some random Moroi. I resumed glaring at Alastair, not because he had just assumed that my supervisor was a man – a completely separate argument, and one that I really did not feel like going into – but now his bothering me was not beginning to really bother the guardians around me. I could see them getting progressively more irritated with every second that Alastair remained. Even Drew, who had been undoubtedly daydreaming for the past two hours, was glancing over with a mixed range of concern.

It was now imperative that I got rid of Alastair.

"Mr Kravitz, might I suggest you re-join the party," I said, composing myself enough to manage a smile with that comment as well.

Alastair, whose attention was now removed from scanning his way across my colleagues, turned to face me and smirked, "But I want to talk to you."

 _Please, God, give me strength!_ "You may talk to me later," I compromised before I could fully realise what that may entail.

He took a step towards me. "But you are here now…"

I tensed, but maintain my decorum, "Iam working."

"This is a party – you should be having fun."

"It is not my place."

"Says who?"

"That is not for me to say."

"My head is starting to hurt."

"What?"

"I'm getting a little dizzy…"

"What are you talking abo-"

"I think I've had too much to drink." And with that he fell forward. With eyes widening, my reflexes kicked in and I caught him before he hit the ground.

"Mr Kravitz, are you okay?" He was a lot heavily than I thought he'd be and I had to shift his body in my arms just to keep him upright. "Alastair?"

"I..um..umble…" he began to mumbled quite incoherently and I frantically began looking around for anyone who could help. The guardians around me looked over, once again some in disgust and some in concern, but neither party moved for fear of getting hung, drawn and quartered by our resistant, royalist commander, Guardian Demort. The Moroi were was too engrossed in their party to take any notice about what was going on around them.

Which left just me to sort this out.

I figured that one of these people had to be a doctor of some kind but there was no way I was going to disrupt the party just to ask – I may as well just walk unarmed into a Strigoi-invested cave. And I sure as hell couldn't just drop Alastair to the ground and forget about him; someone was bound to notice an unconscious Moroi just lying at my feet. But, if I moved I would have to face the wrath of not only Guardian Croft but also the wrath of the entire Guardian community and maybe some of the Moroi one too.

Therefore, I was at crossroads. Added to this, my arms were really starting to ache so I went on my instincts. Carefully shifting his limp body, I guided Alastair towards the door, hoping that the newfound oxygen would relieve him faster as I went to look for a doctor. I lead him outside and towards an isolated corner so I would not be subjected to any stares from the Moroi who were enjoying the evening's cool breeze.

If they noticed a guardian carrying a half-conscious Moroi across the decorated gardens, they didn't act upon it. My journey was unobstructed and I found an isolated bench in which I sat Alastair down only to see his fully conscious face grinning up at me.

Then it hit me.

"Oh, you son of a-!" I stopped myself before I could finish that particular sentence.

"Well, I got you outside, didn't I?" Alastair was still grinning.

I, on the other hand, was fuming. "Do you know how much trouble you've got me in!?" I hissed, perhaps against my better judgement.

Alastair, mercifully, stopped grinning, but the casual smirk that replaced it was not much better. "Janine, you really need not worry so much – have a little fun."

This did little to console my temper and, in fact, it only made it boil over. "Have a little fun! _Have a little fun!_ I cannot just: 'have a little fun'. I am a guardian. It is my duty to protect those that I care about and I will do it until I am six feet under or no more than ash in a jar. That is my purpose and my role. Neither of which requires that I 'have a little fun', in fact, it could very well get, not only me, but others killed. That is my burden. That is my fate. I'm sorry if it doesn't _amuse_ yo-" I was cut off by his lips on my own. The act brought me to silence and I felt nothing of my previous emotions – as if all my feelings, thoughts and reason had been paused; made dormant by the force of his lips and all the stately shock they brought with them.

The sensation overpowered me and rendered me completely defenceless. I could not decide whether I was enjoying the moment or not. Alastair snaked his hands around my waist, pulling me closer. As soon as my mind registered his hand against the indent of my waist it was like reality came crashing down all in one moment, smashing against me like a raging flood. This tsunami hit me hard and fast, evoking a gasp and causing me to shove Alastair away.

"W-"

"Don't say a word." I threatened, pointing directly at him as I tried to gather some bearing on what the fuck was going on and how the hell I had managed to get myself in _this_ situation.

Alastair raised his eyebrows amusedly. "I don't think I was the sole party in this."

"Excuse me: who put whose lips on whom!"

"You kissed me back."

"Oh, I did no-" I cut myself off, realising that I had indeed done just that.

Before I could do anything, or say anything that would make the situation even worse, Alastair closed the space between us that I had creating in shoving him away. "Look, Janine, I like you – a lot. And before you even think about interrupting, I am being serious. I think we could be good together; you and I."

I studied his features critically, daring him to show any signs of mockery. But his softened expression revealed nothing, nothing I could use to doubt him that is. Be even so, I could not shake the scepticism.

Sensing my unease (I mean, I wasn't exactly hiding it), he pulled back a little yet his earnest expression did not falter, "I won't do anything you would not want," he assured, "So I ask you: think about it." And with one final dazzling smile, he began to walk back into the crowd, leaving me with one lingering sentiment:

What. The. Fuck.

Of all the expectations I had for this particular evening, _that_ was certainly not one of them. His taste still lingered on the tender surface of my lips, even after I watched him disappear among the swarm of upper society. I remained rooted to the ground to the point where only the will of God could move me. He must be joking. He couldn't be serious. Could he? As it will surprise no one, I had not much experience in the department of relationships, or men, or relationships with men (be they romantic or otherwise). Whilst Emyl was one of my dearest friends in the whole world, and Drew too seemed to be growing on me, both these individuals acted as an exception to the rule that I had long since determined: one which placed the male gender under a very negative light.

Okay, perhaps that is a little harsh to say – maybe not all men fitted the tainted description I had acquired over the years, but certainly a vast majority, particularly the ones in my acquaintance. Being ostracised during my high school years allowed me to stand witness to their many and frequent forms of attack. Whether that was through cheating, lying, mockery or physical violence – these guys seemed to have all the qualifications needed to be an utter a-hole. That's not to say that they were alone in this because, boy, did I know some _very_ vile females, but I suppose I seem to sympathise with my own kind more.

None of this took away from my present situation in which a male – a _Moroi_ no less – had just put his lips on my own and said that he is genuine. What was I to take from this? That he, a person so decidedly above my own station in life, actually felt some degree of admiration that would seem to completely bypass social norm? Or that he was a lying twat and an equally excellent actor. Needless to say, his performance in getting me out here in the first place was award-worthy. Yet, was he so talented as to look into my eyes and not give away any signs of foul play? Dare I even believe his sincerity?

Thankfully for me, I didn't have to decide because as I was walking back towards the main hall, having finally managed to pry my legs from their frozen state, I had the delight of hearing this conversation between a Moroi I did not know and Tristan Drozdov, my dear old maths buddy:

"Holy shit, he is actually going to do it!"

"He hasn't done it yet, Jay."

"Well, he got her to kiss him. Janine Hathaway, of all people!"

"Yeah, but the bet was to sleep with her. I ain't parting with my cash until he gets past first base and goes straight for the home run."

...

There are no words – none in any widely spoken or, indeed, unspoken language throughout all of this planet's complex and culturally rich history; and, quite possibly, none that could ever be conceived in the near or distant future of said planet – that could properly describe my exact emotions at the one point. Such was my fury, I was genuinely willing to sacrifice my entire life's work just to storm towards them like an enraged, full-force, EF5 tornado, and smack them right in their obnoxious and hateful faces. Oh, did I want to choke them both within an inch of their lives only to make them watch as I cut out the inners!

It was a bloody good thing, then, when another Moroi joined them and changed the conversation. If they had continued speaking, there would've been no stopping me, but this change allowed some of my former control to resurface; just enough to make me turn away which allowed for the next wave to come and convince me to walk.

I didn't walk back into the hall. No: the chance of seeing Alastair was way too high. Instead I walked far and fast away from the crowd. I had never been so glad to be so insignificant for neither guardian nor Moroi took any notice as I all but ran towards the walled garden that backed onto the Royal Court. I passed several couples having a romantic 'session' together which only seemed to make me angrier. Thus, I delved deeper and deeper, my pace quicken until the light trembling I had experience as a consequence of my rage and horror overran my independent will. I collapsed onto the ground, trying to stop myself sobbing hysterically, but to no avail. The gardens were dark and the walls towered around me, but still I felt the need to curl up deeper and deeper in the shadows.

Violated. That was the word. That was the emotion that towered above them all and made me cower like a wound pup. Even though he had not gotten...far, the mere thought – that satanic contemplation that he _could_ have – made me feel dirty and disgusting. I could still feel his lips on my own; futilely, I began frantically trying to wipe his taste with my palms, getting more desperate with each stroke. I stopped fighting – the sobs came out silent, but nonetheless painful. My face became drenched in the cascading tears and caused my body to convulse in, as though I was being staked repeatedly and without mercy.

What a fool I had been – thinking that he could have been genuine? Ha! I had it right before: these Moroi, these male Moroi, were nothing more than spoilt brats who found pleasure in ruining the lives of others. My mother and I never agreed on _anything_ bar this one notion – it was the one piece of advice she gave me and the one piece of advice I had fully embraced. As much as I disliked her, her warning was as clear as it was grounded. Oh, how disappointed she would have been! One lapse was all it took; one lapse is all it will take again.

 _Pull yourself together!_

I mentally screamed at myself. There was no way that this was an acceptable use of my time, never mind my emotions. I had never been so ashamed to be so effected by anything in my entire life. _Alastair Kravitz!_ Of all the people to get _this_ emotional over! Pull yourself together, Hathaway. He just kissed you – nothing more. Sort yourself out!

All of a sudden, I heard a snap. The guardian within me clamped my mouth shut and lifted my head in search of danger. I could still feel my limbs trembling and it was perfectly clear to me that I was in no state to be engaging in a fight, but my hand instinctively drifted towards the sake concealed against my thigh regardless.

I saw a figure among the shadows, behind a hedge. It took a step into my eye-line and I was relieved to find that it was not a Strigoi. What I was not so relieved about – in fact, it just reheated all my dormant anger – was exactly who had stepped into my eye-line: Sergey Kravitz. Father of an abominable bastard! I knew he probably had very little knowledge of what his son was up to with his 'mates' and it was for that reason and that reason alone I had not tackled him to the ground. The hand that had been reaching for my stake fell to the ground and I leant my head back to wait for this anger to subside. As the sentiment that had rendered me thus left me, it allowed for the sound of Sergey's voice to fill my ears. I realised he was speaking, again, on the phone. And, just as before, in Spanish:

" _No juegas juegos con me. ¡Donde estas! Tenemos que hacer esto esta noche - no habrá otro oportunidad."_ There was a pause as whoever was receiving that call made their response. Whatever they said, Sergey seemed pleased. His earlier discontent, evident in his gruff and cold tone, seemed to settle and he smiled. _"_ _Muy bien. Muchas gracias, mis amigos estimados. Te voy a ver en breve."_ He hung up and sighed, running his palms through his hair before scratching his gigantic moustache. He paused for a moment, closing his eyes in the cool night air, before shaking his head and laughing. "Oh, those bastards won't know what's hit them!" he muttered. And, taking one last look at the sky, he disappeared from my sight.

I watched him leave critically. Whatever was left of my enraged temper – and believe me, it was still _very_ much there – I ignored in favour of concern. There was something off. I couldn't place it, but something did not feel right. I had been very wary of the elder Kravitz since I had seen him in Guardian Martyr's empty office. Naturally though, I had put it to one side and focused on not screwing up.

Which reminded me.

" _Shit!"_ I muttered, pushing my still weak limbs to a standing position. How had I allowed my emotions to get the better of me! _Stupid, stupid girl! Pathetic! Weak!_ I forced my legs forward and traced my steps back through the garden. My anger had cooled off substantially – sure, I still wanted to beat Alastair to a pulp, but I was no longer feeling completely murderous and that was good enough for me. I had abandoned my post and whilst I had a feeling Drew wouldn't rat me out, I still felt incredibly ashamed, embarrassed: the lot.

 _How could I have let this happ-_

I was walking so fast and was so distracted by my own chastisement that I was not watching where I was going. I was almost relieved when I saw who I had crashed into.

"Guardian Hathaway, we really must stop meeting like this." Ibrahim said with a chuckle as he dusted himself down, straightening out his tux.

"Forgive me, sir, but I must go," I made to leave, but felt a hand grip against my forearm, dangerous on his part considering what I did on his first encounter. I snapped my head round and gave a slight glare, but he appeared unchanged.

"You've been crying." He stated, his brows furrowed so much that a deep ridge appeared between them as though he had been cut with a knife. "What is the meaning of this?"

"Mr Mazur, please relea-"

"Who did this to you?"

"Please let me-"

"Guardian Hathaway: who did this to you?"

"I must-"

"Answer me!"

"Mr Mazur!"

"Janine!"

We stood there in stalemate. His hand still gripped around my arm, our eyes locked on one another. I could not, no matter how I tried, break his gaze; there was a fire that burnt with such intensity to render any attempt at overcoming it useless. I could feel my resolve faltering as I tried to stop my trembling jaw.

Finally, I managed to steady myself enough to address him. "Mr Mazur, please release me, so I might return to my post."

But Ibrahim did not move. He studied as I had never seen anyone do before. "Janine," he said softly, "who did this to you?"

"It is of no consequence." I replied, looking down to where his hand was wrapped around my forearm.

"Forgive me if I don't believe you," there was an edge to his tone which I had never heard from him before. A coldness that contrasted almost every perception I had of him.

Yet his coldness sparked my fire. I snatched my arm away and met his gaze once more. "Believe what you want: it's what you all do anyway. The rest of us are just here for your entertainment." The words had left my mouth before I could fully think them through, but somehow I did not regret them.

Ibrahim's gaze held, its intensity unchanged, but under his fierce countenance I saw his jaw lock and his posture become rigid. He opened his mouth to speak, but a voice interrupted him.

"Ibrahim? Oh, there you are." I had to fight to keep my jaw from dropping as the owner of the voice approached:

Tatiana Ivashkov...

It was only the bloody Queen. The Queen! She wandered towards us with her natural aura of authority and majesty though there was something almost provocative about it. She was older than I thought she was, but her fitted outfit and general style warranted that of someone still in their twenties, rather than someone just approaching forty. I saw Ibrahim's expression change to a brilliant smile, but he could not so quickly turn off the intensity in his eyes. Tatiana, on the other hand, had no issue switching easily between expressions for upon seeing Ibrahim she wore a delightful and almost charming smile, but when she laid eyes on me it was a different story entirely.

"What are you doing out of position? And talking to an honoured guest! Remember your place – you are here to serve, not to participate!" she snapped, glaring at me directly though, after having spent a few moments under Ibrahim's direct glare, Tatiana's was not quite as intimidating as it should have been. "I am so sorry, Ibrahim..."

"No, it is I who should apologise. " Ibrahim said in his usual light and charismatic tone that startled me a little as it so heavily contrasted the fierce passion he had literally just exhibited, "I am the one who took this wonderful young guardian from her position. You see, I wanted to get a little air outside of the party and I asked Guardian Hathaway here to accompany me – best be safe."

Tatiana was quick to agree. "Of course."

"Well, Guardian Hathaway was most obliging – a real credit to your staff, I daresay." Whilst I had kept my face masked, I was very much surprised by Ibrahim's words. He was under no obligation to bail me out of this situation, least of all to the Queen.

Tatiana did not seem overly satisfied with me, but here facade was good enough as she smiled at Ibrahim once again, "Indeed, of course you are right. Do forgive my folly. Please rejoin the party soon; it is rather missing your company. And I believe you promised me a dance." She said with a wink which made me cringe a little.

Ibrahim laughed heartily. "I have been looking forward to it all evening, you majesty. I should like to remain out here a little while, if you do not object. The night's sky is a particular pleasure of mine."

Tatiana smiled again, "Of course," she said with a slight dip of her head. Tatiana raised her hand and Ibrahim placed a kiss to it before she left to return to the party.

I watched as she left, still in astonishment of her being here. Her long skirt disappeared from sight and I turned back to Ibrahim. "You didn't have to do that."

He frowned. "Do what?"

"Bail me out."

His frown turned to an expression of amusement. "I couldn't bear to see you lose that title you are so fond of, _Guardian_ Hathaway." I scowled up at him and his smile grew to a chuckle before softening once more. "I apologise for my tone earlier: you would not believe the day I have had."

 _Oh, I think I can do you one better._ "There is nothing to forgive. I am the one in the wrong."

"I find myself once again incapable of believing you, but for the sake of my safety, I shall let it slide." He said with a lightened tone. I could feel the smile twitch my lips, but I managed to keep a straight face. "I do hope, however, that you consider me a friend enough that you may confide in me."

"We've only seen each other three times." I pointed out.

He smiled. "Ah, yes, but on each of those occasions, I have sustained some sort of injury from yourself – if that is not a bonding exercise, then I do not know what is."

I rolled my eyes, but laughed all the same. "I suppose."

His expression softened again. "You have a wonderful laugh, Janine. It pained me to see you so distraught."

Before I could respond, we were interrupted once again by a rustling behind us, followed swiftly by a grunting sound. I frowned and awakened all my senses, reaching for my stake as I did. Ibrahim watched with wariness and too began to look around suspiciously. Suddenly, a piercing scream pounded through the night air, coming from the party.

We were under attack...

* * *

 **Hello my dear comrades in Comrade**

 **Dun, dun, dunn... :P**

 **Sorry for the delay chaps, I've had quite a full on week, but what did you think? Like it? Love it? Hate it? Fun fact for you all: this is the** _ **longest**_ **chapter I have ever written! It is literally over 5000 words! I am so excited about this xD**

 **Please let me know what you think and I shall update as soon as I can :)**

 **Here's wishing you all the best  
Mariarty**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Academy or anything surrounding it (but I do own this plot :D)**

* * *

JPOV

Within a second of hearing the first shrill wail, my stake was grasped firmly in my hand. I initially suspected that this was merely a minor disturbance, perhaps a training exercise at most, but as the screams became more and more frequent, that opinion left me _very_ quickly. I was now fully both ready and eager to throw myself into battle, but was also acutely aware of Ibrahim's presence behind me – he was now my first priority. Taking that notion as gospel, I placed my body defensively in front of his and settled into a slight crouch, scanning the area for any signs of movement. There was an eerie silence which occupied the walled-garden where we were situated. I could hear distinctly the commotion of the Court getting louder and louder – screams and cries becoming clearer and clearer – with each step.

"Stay behind me." I ordered the Moroi with whom I had been conversing; general propriety and hierarchal societal dictations were out of the window as I was now solely responsible for keeping him alive. Thankfully, Ibrahim had the better sense to argue with this new shift in dynamic and merely nodded in response, knowing speech would distract me from my mission. I was grateful for this consideration and my gratitude was only increased when Ibrahim mercifully stayed in my shadow as I began to move through the walled garden. The path remained clear and I picked up the pace. Even a Strigoi would be foolish to mount an attack through what, for all intents and purposes, was essentially a maze. The twists and turns would not only slow you down, but also tire you out simultaneously. Therefore, it became a momentary point of safety and one which I fully intended to use.

But for how long?

It was obvious that we couldn't stay here long and I had to get Ibrahim to a more secure environment. Guardian Croft had briefed us on all the bunkers within a five mile radius, but I doubted even he would've predicted their necessity tonight. Nonetheless, I had memorised them all regardless and knew the nearest one was to the east of the hall. Of course, I needed to first establish the source of the attack before deciding upon the quickest and safest route, but that was only a matter of–

"Janine!"

I snapped my head up at Ibrahim's warning. A male Strigoi stood before us, grinning demonically as only a Strigoi knew how. He had clearly been a Dhampir before he had turned as I saw remnants of training as he mounted his attack. He was strong, as all Strigoi were, but sloppy: aiming directly for Ibrahim, he completely underestimated my response. I kicked him back and he fumbled, allowing me to drive my stake through his heart with little resistance. As he collapsed, I saw Ibrahim flinch slightly and I forced myself to remember how he had not been trained as I had to deal with the killing Strigoi – to him, it would have appeared as a form of murder, however pure and beneficial the motives were.

I now really needed to get him out of this.

Little did I know how impossible that would be, for as I approached the entrance to the walled gardens, nothing could prepare me for the sight that lay ahead:

Strigoi in there masses had flooded into the gardens. Emerging from every angle and closing in on the Great Hall like missiles locked on a target. The Dhampirs had mounted their counter-attack, creating a blockade of sorts between the oncoming onslaught and the Great Hall, but appeared overwhelmed by the sheer number of their enemy. The shock of seeing this level of coordination was enough to make even the best of us falter, added to this was the shock of seeing this many Strigoi manage to break through the wards – they were supposed to be indissoluble!

This was definitely _not_ a training exercise...

I could see bodies – both of the living and the un-dead – begin to pile up. Many of the Moroi had retreated back into the hall which appeared to have the highest concentration of Guardians defending it, but some still remained outside and began to flee through the gardens, only to be slain by the relentless and merciless army. I could see Ibrahim's face turn to that of horror as he too realised the same revelation that had just dawned upon me:

The Strigoi were not alone...

Figures in black, masked and _vicious_ , were fighting alongside the beasts of the night. Whilst they may have been covered, it was clear that they were not Strigoi. They were not fast enough. Not strong enough. Yet, they were no so weakened as to appear to be human. No. They were vampires: Dhampirs.

I was shocked. Stunned into silence. However, there was no time to remain so, thus I was brought immediately back to my senses at the approaching swarms of the un-dead caught sight of me. Impulse took over: I ran, Ibrahim in hand, through the battlefield and across the line of Guardians that blocked the entrance to the Great Hall. With Ibrahim safely inside, I told him to go to the bunker before turning back and mounting my attack. All my training flooded back to me as I quickly and efficiently dispatched my enemy. With each battle, and each victory, I noticed how – in spite of their numbers – most of the Strigoi were young: freshly transformed and still clumsy with their newfound power. This gave me a distinct advantage and one I used to the full. I ran into the thrust of the battle, driving my stake into unsuspecting Strigoi and aiding my fellow Guardians. I caught sight of Ruth fending off two female Strigoi and jumped to her defence. Her grateful smirk told me she was thankful for my interference and once both of the unmentionable abominations were sent back to where they belonged, we separated, adopting a principle of divide and conquer.

Several more dead Strigoi later, I came face to face with one of the assailants. He was a Dhampir – no questions asked – and appeared much older than myself, perhaps in his late thirties, but still had managed to maintain his physical fitness. He stood before me in all black, only his deep brown eyes visible from the opening in his black balaclava. I was dumfounded: I could not comprehend why he had sided with the ones we had been trained to despise and to kill. As a result, this confusion caused me to hesitate.

And that hesitation nearly killed me.

He, seemingly having had no omission in fighting one of his own kind, launched towards me at a formidable rate. Tackling me to the ground, he used his free hands to lock onto my neck, choking me within his grasp. I flailed, but managed to kick my leg upwards and towards a rather sensitive area for the man on top of me. He flinched and his grip loosened. It was enough for me to kick him again and shove him off me and scramble free. Re-positioning myself, I went to an offensive crouch and propelled my small frame against his larger. He, regaining his resolve, countered: meeting my attack with one of his own. Changing tact, I dodged and ducked down, using my lack of height and striking his legs, causing him to fall to the ground. Seeing my opportunity, I tried to scramble to my feet, only to see him already up. Without needing to see the rest of his features, I could tell he was angry – positively fuming – as he thundered towards me. Instinctively, I gripped the stake in my hand and threw it towards him. It flung through the air at a speed he could not avoid and struck him in the throat. His halt was immediate. The blood gargled ground the protruding stake and out of his open mouth and he fell forward to the ground, motionless.

I remained where I was: my breathing heavy and my thoughts manic. I had just killed a Dhampir. A Dhampir! Never had I ever expected – at any point in my _entire_ career – that I would have to do that. We were not trained for this. There was no protocol. I could feel my breathing quicken further still and the tears begin to overfill my eyes. I forced myself up and walked towards the lifeless corpse, staring at it in momentary horror and wonder. Reaching down, I pried my stake from where it was lodged in his throat. More blood squirted through but I was in too much shock to properly react. In my observation of the still corpse, I noticed something on the back of his neck and leaned down to get a closer look: tattooed over where his promise mark evidently used to be, was a sun: a golden circle with identically coloured rays shaped like that of a compass. Within it, encircling the small gap between the central circle and the rays was an inscription: _La Luz: el victorioso y el eterno._

I staggered back and away from the body, still completely horror-struck. Around me, I could hear the fighting continue: the groans and snarls of the Strigoi; the calls and shouts of Dhampirs; the screams and cries of Moroi. The sounds of battle and of loss: fusing together and making my head pound and ache. I could no longer concentrate. Every moral I had had been shattered. How could he side with the _Strigoi_? Was everything a lie? What was just? What was true? What was _right_?

But, just as quickly as it had gone, my concentration came rushing right back upon hearing one particular scream...

 _Harriet!_

I snapped my head round to see her cowering on the ground. Her dress torn and smothered in mud and grass and through its tear I saw her right ankle misshapen and out of place. A Strigoi loomed over her, grinning menacingly and licking his lips voluptuously. All thoughts of my higher moral standing were replaced by animalistic vengeance. I sprinted towards my friend, stake – still blooded by gorged throat of the traitorous Dhampir – seized in my hand. I bolted faster and faster, rising my arm up before thrusting it down through the beast's shoulder blade. I felt the bone shatter upon impact and his body convulse forward only to be thrown back again by a force striking him on the other side. As he fell I met eyes with that other force.

"Janine..." I saw the hardness and seriousness in Emyl's face and nodded my response, not trusting my voice. He offered me a small smile, understanding my silence, before we set into motion. Something I had always cherished was our ability to coordinate without speaking. Emyl and I did not need words or discussion, just one look and we'd fall into synchronisation. That day was no different: I picked up Harriet from the ground whilst Emyl forged out path in front of us, like Moses through the Red Sea. With Harriet in between us, limping slightly on her damaged ankle, I focused on the back making sure nothing came up behind us. Emyl pushed forward, slaying everything that dared to threaten his charge. We ploughed through the swarm and broke free – running through the open ground and towards the woodland that backed onto the Court gardens. Emyl took Harriet's hand and pulled her beside him as a loud siren echoed through the evening air, signalling only one thing:

The Royal Court had been breached!

The wail pulsed through the entire campus, awaking everyone. This was a signal that that same everyone had been taught, but had never, as far as the records went back, had been forced to use. The bunkers we no longer an option. The safest place in the vampiric world had been compromised. There was only one option now: run. Run far and run fast.

Emyl's eyes widened in shock and my own expression mirrored my own. I could see the Moroi sprinting from the building, risking the world outside the wards as it had now become the lesser of two evils. The airstrips were open and every helicopter, plane, car, truck and bike was now in motion. The guardians split – some to make sure as many of the Moroi escaped as possible, whilst the other remained and fought off the invasion. The latter knew their efforts would lead to their demise, but it would not be in vain: it would buy the others time.

As for us, we were too far away from the airstrips or roads: our only option was the woods. How far we would get was incalculable. Our chances of survival were equally inconclusive. But we had no choice.

"Janine, we have to go." Emyl's voice – usually so composed – was panicked and broken. He did not know what to do. No-one did. This was an attack like no other – never seen before in all our history. What were we supposed to do? The Court itself had called to abandon ship!

We were not trained for _this_.

A Strigoi, lingering on the outskirts of the battle, one who had not yet entered the main building of the Court that they had conquered, caught sight of us. She wasted no time and charged towards us with uncommon grace which solidified my greatest fear: she was old. _Very_ old.

"Go." I whispered.

Emyl's expression shattered as he realised what I was suggesting. "Jenny..."

"Go!"

There was no time to argue. And Emyl knew it. Harriet screamed in protest as Emyl tried to drag her away. She resisted. "Janine! No! Please, God, No! Janine!" Emyl swept her into his arms and ran, out of the clearing and into the darkness of the woods, sparing me one last glance. His eyes full of sorrow and pain. If I had not been so intently focused on my approaching attacker, I would've wondered if I would ever see my friends again: if I'd ever hear Emyl's laughter, his jokes, his teasing. Would I ever hear Harriet: her giggle, her kindness and her faith in all that was good. As it was though, I thought of nothing but my first move...

The Strigoi darted towards me; she had built up quite a momentum and there was no way I was going to be able to match it, so I dodged. Instead, extending my leg enough to trip her and break her speed. This enraged her. She lashed her body round and struck my shoulder. The force sent me staggering backwards and I could feel something was broken. Nonetheless, I was not giving up so easily. I launched my counter-attack, knowing that I could probably best her in close combat where my height (or lack thereof) held its greatest advantage. And so, I pushed forward: blocking each of her hits and striking with some of my own. Our battle became like chess, with each player making moves and counter-moves. I pressed for my advantage, as she pressed for hers; both switching between defensive and offensive effortlessly.

"You're a clever one," she said, circling me. I mirrored her movements with perfect synchronisation, "and you fight with your heart. That will make it so much _sweeter_ when I rip it from your chest!" and with that she pounced. I was prepared, but the attack never came. Instead, the earth growled, throwing us both off balance. The grass parted and the underlying rock crumbled away; the ground beneath her feet slowly began to dissipate into ash. She tried to flee, but stumbled. Her distraction was enough for me to plunge my stake into her heart before she fell into the crumbled ground. Under normal circumstances, the ground just melting away like that would have completely freaked the hell out of me, yet with all the disorder and shock of what the Ivashkov Ball had transformed into, this impossible act appear almost as normal as any natural phenomenon. I looked up and around in search of answers and was stunned by what I saw.

"Mr Mazu- _Ibrahim_!?"

His expression, that just had been so serious and focused fell into one of slight amusement and, if we're honest, one of a rather smug disposition. He lowered the hand that had been raise in front of him: his fingers spread and muscles tensed. There was a certain weariness in his countenance and suddenly everything came together.

It was then when I first learnt that Ibrahim Mazur was an Earth User...

"Good evening, Guardian Hathaway..." he smiled before his body swayed involuntarily. I reached him just as he began to fall, losing control of his ability to stand. He collapsed against my shoulder and I was acutely aware that this was the second time a Moroi had fallen against me. Granted, Alastair was faking the loss of consciousness whilst Ibrahim was fighting to keep his. I allowed him to use me as a crutch and lead him into the tree-line. I glanced back only to see if we were being followed. As we weren't, I pressed forward and through the woodland before us.

The deeper we walked into the woods, the safer I felt: a fact that would have been very contradictory under normal circumstances but it certainly was not every day that the Moroi Royal Court was breached by a strange unity of Dhampirs and Strigoi. I do not think, at that moment, the full weight of the situation had hit me yet: we were fleeing, running for our _lives_ , whilst the home we once called 'safe' was now in the hands of an enemy we were not prepared for. Two hours ago, I was cowering in a maze after I realised my first kiss had been for a _bet_. It seemed like a lifetime ago and oh-so insignificant: it paled in comparison to what had just happened. I did not know how many of the Moroi had escaped, whether Alistair was among them. Or Tristan. Or Julia. Tamara or Robert. _Tatiana._ I did not know if the Dhampirs had, improbable as it was, managed to defeat the Strigoi and Dhampirs and reclaim the Royal Court. Nor did I know the extent of the damage, the number of lives lost (though I could guess we were well into treble figures). I did not know anything, save that I was travelling deeper and deeper into the woodland that surrounded the Court, getting closer to the ward boundary, though what good it was doing was beyond me.

"Janine..." I heard Ibrahim whisper, weariness and exhaustion laced in his tone.

He needed rest, fast. What had possessed him to intervene in my battle, draining him of his energy through the use of his magic, was beyond me. I did not know a lot about Moroi abilities; to me, they only seemed like a cool party trick or sorts. I had never seen them use it outside a classroom environment, where variables were controlled and monitored extensively, and definitely not in the context of a battle. But then again, Ibrahim Mazur seemed incapable of ceasing to amaze me. Though in this instance, it appeared he had maybe pushed too far. The fatigue was rapidly growing on his face, but we were too exposed where we were to stop. "Hang in there, Mr Mazur," I encouraged, looking around for somewhere to stop. I spotted a fallen tree ahead: it had collapsed against another, forming a shelter of sorts. Whilst it wasn't perfect, I was in no place to be picky and began to guide an ever weakening Ibrahim towards it.

"How many..." he made to speak again, but his voice trailed off and he continued in a losing battle against his fatigue.

Not wanting him to fall asleep just yet, I nudged him a little, keeping him awake. "Hmm?"

He took several laboured breaths as we reached my fallen tree. I placed him under its shelter and he looked up through heavy eyelids, smiling a little. "How many times must I ask you to call me Ibrahim?"

I smiled slightly at his comment before glancing around me. Being the dead of night, the darkness dominated the weak moonlight, which had been obstructed further by the slowly leafing trees, and made it difficult to see as far as I would've liked. Yet I was thankful that the shelter I had found lacked in points of attack, making its defence a little easier. I was sure we had passed the ward border, but could not say for certain. My bearings had been thrown and, having never explored this part of the surrounding campus as I deemed it to be a wasted exercise, I was no sure how to get out of these woods. My plan, if you could call it that, was to get us to civilisation, at least then we'd stand a better chance, though what we would do from there was beyond me. Perhaps I'd try and get us to a safe house. Whilst the Moroi were certainly not expecting their heavily guarded fortress to fall in the hands of our enemy, they were not so stupid as to not have a rendezvous point. The nearest, I believed to be north, passed the border and into Canada. It seemed that now the Court had fallen, the whole Pennsylvanian state was now considered a hazard. I suppose, we could not afford any chances and I certainly wasn't going to take any with Ibrahim. This made me think that it was perhaps a better idea to head towards Pittsburgh and catch a flight, rather than attempt to trek north. It was a little more risky, but on balance I thought it better. Of course, we still had to find a town, with a road, to even start, so I decided that I'd cross the metaphoric bridge when I got there.

I glanced back at Ibrahim, his head rested against the side of the trunk but his eyes remained open and fixed on me. I sighed. "You should really get some rest."

He quirked an eyebrow. "You think it possible to sleep after what just happened?"

He had a point. I was still trying to comprehend the whole thing. The Royal Court: captured!? Abandoned!? Overthrown!? The wards alone were supposed to be ridiculously resilient, and yet... I suppose, the combined effort of the traitorous Dhampirs (I could not think of what else to call them) was not something to be taken lightly. Since Strigoi could not touch either stakes or wards, it had to be their allies who had sabotaged the defences. Staking the wards would have resulted in the Court's first line of defence rendered mute. It seemed so frivolous a defeat in that respect – so easy for them – but no-one could have imagined Dhampirs actually sided with Strigoi. What possible outcome could this have?

I remembered the Dhampir I had slain earlier that evening, or more specifically, his tattoo: _La Luz._ The Light. What light? There was a chance that this was just a tattoo he'd gotten off his own back, but it seemed too planned and well-thought-out – much like the attack itself – to seem coincidental.

Regardless, I was much too exhausted – both mentally and physically – to be trying to decipher what it could possibly mean. Thus, I turned my attention back to Ibrahim and his need for sleep.

"You're right, but you should really try to sleep." I said.

He smiled, his eyes glancing towards me as he was too shattered to move his head. "So should you." I shook my head at his implication and broke our eye-contact, once again surveying the area. "Janine, come and sit down – I promise I won't hurt you."

As much as I may have wanted to, I remained steadfast in my resolve. "I must keep guard."

"What for? They've taken the _Royal Court_ – no-one is going to be out here when they could be in there." He argued weakly, the dejection over the whole thing clear in his tone.

I shook my head again. "There still could be danger."

"And I'm sure you'll protect me when it comes, but for now: please sit down before you fall down." His tone was both stern and authoritative.

I frowned and spoke before I could think it through. "I don't think you are in any position to be making orders." I saw his eyebrows rise, but I wasn't going to give up now, "Go to sleep." When he made no effort to comply – in fact, I think he was now trying harder to remain awake – I scowled at him and huffed irritably, "You are unbelievable."

That made him smile. "No, I just have an unfortunate tendency to not follow orders..." he trailed off, teasing me.

"Don't I know it." I grumbled remembering how I had given him the order to go insid-

I cut myself off as another horrid realisation filled my mind. _I told him to go inside._ I could feel my eyes well with water; my heart pounded at a rate I did not think possible; the guilt that ruptured through my body was so overwhelming it was physically painful. I told him to go inside the Royal Court – the very one that had now been captured. If he had listened...if he had followed my command...he would be dead.

I froze, my eyes widening and my breathing became staggered as I became more and more horror-struck. Ibrahim's teasing smirk had vanished, only to be replaced with one of deep concern. "Janine?" he asked and when I did not respond, he forced himself to his feet, wincing as he heaved his heavy limbs to a stand and walked towards me.

I was in too much shock to stop him, even to chastise him. All that came out of my mouth was my overflowing guilt. "I told you to go inside..."

His frown deepened and he took a tentative step closer. "So?"

I met his gaze with a vengeful passion. "You could be dead."

Realisation filled his expression. His brown eyes widened as the revelation hit him, but changed quickly to one of compassion. "You are in no way to blame for any of this."

"But _I_ could have killed you!"

He placed his hands on my cheeks, forcing my wandering and manic gaze to meet his eyes. I once again found myself entranced: locked in the intensity of his expression, which appeared unscathed by his ever increasing exhaustion. "Janine, look at me! Am I dead?"

"No, but if you had listen-"

"But I didn't. You cannot beat yourself over something that never happened. If everyone did that, then we would not know happiness – only suffering. Unnecessary suffering." I felt the tears fall from my eyes and onto my cheeks where his hands remained, cupping them gently. He brushed them away with his thumbs; the act gently caressed my cheekbones and brought a strange comfort in the midst of my trauma. "It pains me to see you so upset, Guardian Hathaway." He whispered, still running the pads of his thumbs against the side of my face and I remembered how he had said that before.

I swallowed my grief, forcing myself to speak once again. "Mr Mazur, I really think you should get some rest."

He smiled softly, barely turning the sides of his mouth, but the message remained clear. "If that will make you happy." He said, removing his hands from my cheeks and easing himself back into the shelter. I watched as he settled himself to a more comfortable position and felt an odd sense of disappointment at the loss of his touch. Taking this to be the tiredness, I cast it aside and took up my defensive stance. The guilt I felt still pressed against me; it made me feel worthless, pathetic and dejected. The idea that I could have led a Moroi – a friend, as he called himself – to his demise was heart-wrenching. My life's one purpose, as I was so often told, was that of servitude and failing that brought me to the very brink of despair.

"But what does my happiness matter?" I muttered aloud, laughing slightly at my thoughts. But even through my amusement, echoed in the darkness of the woodland and the cold February air, I could've sworn I heard a voice whisper a response:

"It matters to me."

* * *

 **Hello my dear Comrades in comrade**

 **The Royal Court has fallen! And Dhampirs helping Strigoi – what madness is this!? Muhaha, you shall just have to stay a find out ;)**

 **This chapter was a little different for me; I don't usually write a lot of action-y, fighting stuff, but I feel that is was necessary. I hope it turned out okay. Also, Janine and Abe's relationship is proving to be a little tricky. I am trying to keep this story as mobile and as...exciting isn't really the right word, but I can't really think of a better one (not great if I want to be an author xD) as possible. With Cold as Ice, I took absolutely ages to get Romitri together and for the plot to actually go anywhere, so I am endeavouring to improve with this one. Do let me know how it's going: I am so glad that so many of you are enjoying this story and really hope you continue to do so :)**

 **As ever, all the very best,  
Mariarty**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Academy or anything surrounding it (but I do own this plot :D)**

* * *

JPOV

I opened my eyes and felt the first rays of fresh, golden sunlight seep into my irises. The sky, though still blackened by the lingering night, had now become tinted in red as the slowly rising sun began to pierce the night. Not much broke the silence of the dawn bar the gentle rustling of winter leaves that still remained, clinging on for every moment they had left. I could see the new buds of life beginning to emerge; sceptically and timidly, they slowly peaked from the ground like elves and sprites that lived in fear of discovery. I smiled at the peacefulness of the situation before I remembered exactly what my situation was.

 _Shit._ I cursed inwardly, pushing myself to my feet. I quickly looked around and saw Ibrahim still sleeping gently under the fallen tree, seemingly unharmed. I breathed a sigh of relief before the mental scolding began. I couldn't believe I had fallen asleep. Clearly, what had happened was I slumped by the neighbouring tree for just a second and my body took that to be, 'right, nap time'. Stupid, foolish girl! I huffed and kicked my foot against the trunk of a tree, not taking into account how much it would hurt. I hissed, stopping any unwanted exclamations to leave my lips and began pacing back and forth to try a diffuse the pain. It didn't really do much, but it provided a sufficient distraction.

Unfortunately, what it did do was stir Ibrahim from his rest. I immediately felt bad and froze, hoping that he'd go back to sleep, but no such luck. He made all the characteristic groans of someone awaking in the morning against their will and turned his body to face me. The sight unnerved me greatly: he was pale, much paler than he ought to be and the huge black circles under his worn eyes appeared to be of a greater consequence than just sleep. Every move he made seemed to cause him some form of discomfort and, in forcing his body to an upright position, he looked even more exhausted than he did the previous night.

"Good morning, Guardian Hathaway," he rasped, but still managed a grin.

I took a tentative step forward, "How are you feeling?"

"Could be worse." He shrugged as though there was nothing much wrong. I eyed him warily, scrutinising his every feature in search of any sign of his acceptance over his present circumstance, but he seemed every bit as charming and laid-back as ever.

Thus, I scowled, but deemed it best not to antagonise the situation; I had long since learned that arguing with Ibrahim Mazur would get me absolutely nowhere and really, we did not have the liberty of wasting time. We needed to move, get to some form of civilisation and preferably do so in as little time as possible, so if Ibrahim was able, I hoped to get moving as fast as possible, out of the danger that surrounded us. Though, whilst I may have accepted that arguing with him was a futility by its very nature, I most certainly did not trust his judgement on the subject of how he was feeling.

"Can you walk?" My slight want of a more medical background proved to be a minor hindrance, yet – given my present position – I neither had the time nor the means to quickly brief myself on how to be a proficient doctor. Therefore, my approach would just have to do.

"I should hope so: I've been practising since I was a child." I rolled my eyes and he made to push himself to his feet. Stumbling a little, he gripped to the tree and pulled his body upward. I instinctively took a step forward to help, but hesitated and retreated back. He managed all the same and, upon finding his balance, looked up and grinned. "Impressed?"

"Highly." I replied sarcastically. He chuckled. "We should aim to get moving before the sun gets up fully." I thought aloud, glancing towards the gentle crimson taint that lined the bottom of the endless sky.

Ibrahim's expression hardened and he nodded. "That may be in our best interests. Shall I presume we are going that way" he nodded in the direction opposite from Court.

I was taken aback momentarily by his astuteness and substantial sense of reason, for I had half expected him to flailing around like a fish who had found himself on a fishing boat, but quickly recovered and was thankful for this disposition. "Yeah," I agreed, "We should hopefully find a road or path that will take us into urbanisation, though we should probably stay clear of the main roads."

He hummed, "Yes, I should think so. Might I make a suggestion?"

"Sure..."

"Perhaps we should follow him..." He said with a slight grin. I immediately became rigid. Turning to follow his gaze, I reach for my stake and fell into almost a tensed sort of _plié_ : taking up a defensive crouch. Only, when I had located the subject of Ibrahim's comment, I suddenly felt very stupid. A small deer shifted its way through the shrubbery; its dull, sleepy eyes were pushed forward with its head and it slowly grazed its way through the woodland.

" _Jesus Christ_." I muttered, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Please, do call me Ibrahim." Ibrahim's voice broke me out of my trace.

I turned and glared at his amused face. "This is not funny."

He sobered up considerably. "Of course. Animals, such as our new friend here, often head towards water at dawn. That way, we could follow a stream and it is bound to lead to some establishment. Or, if not, at least we'll have means of survival."

I blinked, once again shocked by the level of integrity of the Moroi who stood before me and continued to baffle me at any given opportunity. "Where did you learn that?" I asked before realising that that sounded quite rude.

If he noticed, Ibrahim did not seem bothered. "Ah, that would be telling, Guardian Hathaway." He replied with a wink.

I shook my head, but smiled nonetheless. "Alright, we'll follow your deer." And that is how we ended up following a deer through the outer woodland of the Royal Court. Needless to say, it was not an experience I was expecting in life, but I had learnt to expect the unexpected, particularly in the presence of a certain Moroi who had rested his hand against my shoulder, using me a make-shift crutch. Though he was much too stubborn to admit it, I could tell that Ibrahim was struggling. His walk was sloppy and breathing laboured, but he seemed quite determined to ignore it. I entertained his resolve, but kept a very close eye on his every move. I was not going to take any chances. _They come first. They come first._ Silently whispered in my head, reminding me of my training, but – for the first time – that same mantra, the one which had been so embedded into my very being that it almost made up all of my identity, seemed redundant. I did not need it. As though protecting Ibrahim was not so much obligation as it was instinct.

That particular contemplation unnerved me greatly, so I decided to avert my attention to my surroundings. The sun was still slowly rising as Ibrahim's somewhat brilliant survival suggestion paid off and we found a running stream. I did not even need to look at him to know how smug he was feeling at that moment as it was so radiant, it was almost tangible. With the sun to my left, I lead Ibrahim south, following the downward flow of the waterway. The damp mud beneath my feet proved to me a more difficult terrain as it resisted our movements, sticking to my boots and causing me to sink with each step, but I ploughed through nonetheless. I remained alert throughout: my senses were open and focused on every detail around me; I trusted nothing that I saw and treated everything as though it was my enemy. The early morning woodland sounds had me tensed at every chirp, flutter, rustle and snap. One of the downsides to an education at St Vladimir's was that the training was focused heavily on indoor situations as that was the situation that the Moroi would most frequently occupy. Sure, we had a substantial amount of outdoor training lest we be caught out transporting between sanctioned perimeters, but not nearly enough to be able to survive a daring yet quite spontaneous escape in the woods. And since it is safe to assume that I didn't join a Girl Guiding unit in my few and far between interregnums, I was well out of my comfort zone.

But as the sun cleared the tree canopy, it became very clear that I wasn't the only one.

"Ibrahim!" I exclaimed as he collapsed on the ground, gasping but lacking in energy to complete even that primitive task, so all that came out was a painful groan.

"Forgive me, I appear to have tripped over a root..." he said, trying to regain a sense of normality and stand up again.

"Bullshit." I snapped before I could reign myself back in. There were no roots anywhere near us, so his attempt at a lie was a weak one at that.

He, rather in spite of himself, found the energy to look surprised, if his raised eyebrows and widened eyes were anything to go by, at my choice of language. "I beg your pardon?"

I don't know what it was about that sentence, perhaps it reminded me too much of the various patronising authorities in my life, but it made my blood boil with anger. "I said: _bull-shit_." I emphasised each syllable as though I were speaking to a child. "Clear enough for you? Or is my annunciation to quite to your liking, _sir_?" I really could not account for my tone: actually, I could. I was annoyed that he was lying to me, but even more enraged by the fact I hadn't the faintest clue what was wrong with him!?

Ibrahim, on the other hand, had the nerve to look baffled. "Janine, what is the matter with you?"

"Nothing is the matter." I snapped. "I'm not the one lying about tripping over a bloody root!"

Whatever he was about to say, and the look in his eye told me that it was going to be something equally passionate as my own, was lost as a spasm ran through his body, causing him to collapse further into the wet ground. He lurched: simultaneously gasping and gagging. I tightened my hold and cast a quick glance to the sun above – now fully risen and indeed doing Ibrahim any favours. But the sun had been up for a long time, thereby rendering it not the main cause of this particular condition. I was lost as to what was wrong with him: we had been stopping for water frequently and even stumbled upon an apple tree on which we feasted; I could not discern what was causing him to act like this and it made me very worried. He was weak: the lack of sleep, of proper food and the ever glaring sun were all emphasising that, torturing him, but I knew that the primary cause was his use of magic. What little I knew about Moroi magic, I knew it drastically drained them; Ibrahim's little spectacle the previous night with my battle with the Strigoi had resulted in a major withdraw of energy; one that was now too prominent to ignore. He could very much die at any moment. He needed help. He needed some sort of nourishment. He needed...

 _Blood._

A Moroi could go two, maybe three, days without blood before they started to wilt, but Ibrahim's use of Earth magic had significantly taken its toll. Without hesitation, I draw my stake and slashed it through my palm. The pain was horrendous: a lot more than I thought it would be, though why I thought it would be anything bar painful was beyond me. I clamped my teeth shut and hissed to soothe its ferocious sting, but brought my bleeding palm down to Ibrahim who was still struggling breath properly. His eyes were heavy and in danger of rolling back into his head and slipping him into unconsciousness. I acted fast: lifting his head to open his airway whilst bringing my wounded hand down to his lips. The effect was immediate. His eyes widened as soon as the red fluid touched his tongue and his teeth clamped down on my palm. I cried out as I felt his canines dig beneath my skin, but it was quickly replaced by an odd sense of pleasure. The endorphins cleared my mind of the initial pain and all that was replaced was something akin to ecstasy. Everything about it thrilled me: it made everything seem so much better – more real, more tangible, more intense. I had never felt more alive. My mind was swirling and I barely managed to keep my focus in place. Through my haze, I saw Ibrahim – his eyes regaining more of their former light and life, but revelation dawned on them as he registered what was happening.

And that revelation was shock.

With no little effort, he pulled his mouth away, forcing himself backward and consequently knocking himself out. I, on the other hand, remained on my knees. The lingering effect of Ibrahim's bite was still running through my body and turning my thoughts to a pounding mush. I tried to regain my focus and, had I not been so light headed, I may have succeeded. I could feel the dizziness falling over me as I tried to shuffle towards Ibrahim. I had watched him fall back and I mentally prayed that he was not severely injured as I was in no state to fix him. To my relief, he appeared merely knocked out and I managed to pull him into the recovery position – something I somehow managed to remember from Guardian Bourne's first aid lectures – before I succumbed to the dizziness and everything went black.

* * *

[Transaction order 0012426795]

Status: Complete  
Total Confirmed Charge: $2,000,000  
Estimated Delivery Date: 2nd April  
Shipping: Portsmouth, Hampshire, United Kingdom to Port Richmond, Philadelphia, USA

[04:32 GMT] [X2994] _Items received._

[09:35 GMT] [Q1129] _Mission to go ahead. Prepare for deployment._

[04:47 GMT] [X2994] _Copy._

[23:54 GMT] [X2994] _Mission report: success. Royal Court breeched. 234 hostages. Tatiana in custody._

 _Finally..._

* * *

I awoke with a headache. And a bloody brutal one at that. I grunted and groaned, clenching my eyelids tightly together as though it would alleviate my blurred and fuzzy vision. A few blinks later and the soft, spring green of the woodland floor began to crystallize in my eyes, becoming clearer and more distinct. I could feel the soft moss beneath my cheek and the distant trickle of running water through my exposed left ear. I frowned as I contemplated my own adjective: _distant._ Lifting my head, I scouted the area around me to see that I had indeed been moved from where I had lost consciousness before.

My alarm was further increased by the fact that I could not see Ibrahim.

I attempted to jolt upright but my weary disposition rendered it a mere spasm. My anger growled at my inabilities and I uncomfortably forced myself onto my forearm when I discovered a silk, black suit jacket had been placed over my upper body. It was at this point that I also noted the soft fabric that was tightly bandaged against my palm, successfully covering both the gash I had made and Ibrahim's bite.

"Oh, take it easy there," the voice was accompanied by a pair of warm hands which guided me into a sitting position. I made a quick survey of his features: he looked much better. The paleness of his complexion had gone, reverting back to his skin's usual slightly tanned nature; he no longer had drooping bags under his eyes and his eyes themselves gave off an aura of vibrancy and life. The only fault I found was a little weariness and a lack of a right shirt sleeve. "Are you alright?"

I nodded. "You look well." I noted, for the first time taking in his hardened features.

He was silent for a moment, evidently thinking of the right words to say. In the end, he settled with: "You should not have done that."

A poor choice, in my opinion. I made this opinion known through my scowl. "Yeah, well, you shouldn't have used your fancy Earth magic in the first place." My voice was a little raspy and strained, but I was certainly not going to let that stop me.

"You were in danger."

"I can take care of myself, thank you Mr Mazur." I snapped.

He remained unscathed. "You could have died."

"And what? You couldn't?" I recoiled, taking a deep breath and settling my emotions. "Mr Mazur, I am responsible for your wellbeing. You come first."

"Bullshit."

I blinked. "I'm sorry?"

His gaze locked mine, the fire in his expression burned fiercer and more passionately than ever before. "I said: _bull-shit_. Clear enough for you? Or is my annunciation to quite to your liking, _madam_?" I scowled at his use of my words, but he continued. "Don't you dare invoke that ridiculous mantra now. We are both in this mess, _equally_. I am as much responsible for your safety as you are mine."

I inhaled sharply and looked away, no longer wishing to face Ibrahim's rage. I found myself fiddling with the bandage on my hand, remembering where it had come from. "Thank you."

Ibrahim, who had closed his eyes and began what looked like some form of meditation, reopened his eyelids and raised an eyebrow. "For what?" I held up my hand and his features softened. "My pleasure."

"How long was I out?"

"A couple of hours, it can't be more than about two o'clock." He said looking up at the sky.

I bit the inside of my cheek at the prolonged silence that followed this comment. Conversation with Ibrahim had always been so natural that I was not yet used to this awkward tension. "Should we start heading off then?"

He looked at me with a frown and inclined his head slightly. "You have just awoken."

"So?"

I saw a smile trace his lips and he sighed. "I think you may need some rest, Guardian Hathaway."

I rolled my eyes. "I'm fine. Besides, you said it yourself; I've already had a few hours."

"Yes, well, you have lost quite a lot of-" he cut himself. Clenching his jaw and looking away, he murmured the last word, "blood."

I looked over at him and saw only pain and guilt; it confused me great, for he needed blood. He would have died if he didn't get any quickly, or at very least, find himself comatose. "Ibrahim, you needed it." I said as softly as I could muster.

His brown eyes flicked back towards my own. "You do not understand. I do not mean that in a derogatory way, please believe me of that, but this is a belief shared among Moroi."

I frowned. "Tell me then."

I saw his jaw tense and he breathed deeply before speaking again. "In the Moroi community, to drink from a Dhampir, or even another Moroi, is seen as the lowest and dirtiest things one can do, because of the likeness to the communes and all their connotations. It is for that reason that I never have, nor ever hoped I would have, drunk from another vampire. Especially not you. You are a dear friend to me, Janine, and I feel as though I have violated you. And I cannot forgive myself for that."

I remained silent, unsure of what I could say. I knew what I wanted to say: I wanted to tell him it was alright – that he had nothing to feel guilty over – yet it was not my forgiveness he needed, but his own. For the little that it was worth, I opened my mouth to assure him once again, but clamped it shut when I heard a rustling nearby.

Ibrahim, noticing the change in my expression, frowned. "Janine-"

"Shh." I cut him off, perhaps a little more harshly than indented, but he seemed unaffected and kept quiet. Tentatively, I slowly forced myself to my knees, gripping the stake on my belt. I lifted on leg up and put my weight onto it, leaning my body forward to deepen my surveillance of the situation. There was another soft sound, indicative of movement, and – upon determining its origin – I sprang towards it, unsheathing my stake to impale the hidden threat only to have it blocked by another metallic stake. At the sight of it, I snapped my head towards its wielder and almost cried in relief. "Emyl!"

"Janine!" he exclaimed with a laugh, lowering his weapon and pulling me into his arms. For once, I neither resisted nor flinched; I even went as far as to actually welcome his embrace. For Emyl's part, I highly doubted if my opinion held any bearing on his own actions and he seemed steadfast and determined to hug me as long as possible. Eventually though, he removed his head from where it had buried into my shoulder and called out over his own. "Harriet! Come look what I found lying about on the floor!"

I pulled out of his arms and glared at his grinning face, yet found that such a state could not be maintained upon seeing the hopeful if a little wary expression of Harriet Conta as she poked her head out from the trees. Her eyes widened and she flew into me like the tide on the shoreline. "Janine? Janine! Oh my God! You're alive!" she squealed into my ear before noting my slightly weakened state. She pulled back for a full examination and gasped upon seeing my bandaged hand. "You're hurt!?"

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ibrahim, who had been silently surveying this reunion with a soft smile of his own, flinch. With all his intense and extensive training, it was not surprising that Emyl noticed this flinch too and his face immediately fell to one of stoic anger as his eyes darted between Ibrahim and myself. Therefore, I thought it best to reassure them all, "It's nothing." This, as you can imagine, put no-one at ease. I sighed and decided on a subject change, "Which way were you headed?"

Harriet bit her lip and glanced over to Emyl who was still glaring at the Moroi behind me. Eventually he managed to peal his gaze away long enough to answer my question. "East." He said, nodding in the specified direction. "I climbed a tree and saw that the canopy fades in that direction – figured it must be a road."

I nodded. "Did you meet anyone along the way?"

He shook his head. "Have you?"

"No."

I saw his eyes drift towards Ibrahim, but snapped back as quickly as they had moved. "My pager is still operational, though I haven't had anything come through."

"Nor I." I had checked almost constantly the first night out here, desperate to know if anyone had made it out besides us. "I am not sure if Croft or even Demort got out."

"We shall just have to hope."

Silence fell around us like lead in water. Whether it was a consequence of fatigue or the tension of the situation, I could not say. Regardless of its causation, Harriet decided that a couple of moments in uncomfortable silence was quite enough for her. "Hello, sorry, I don't think we've been introduced. I'm Harriet. Harriet Conta." She said, for the first time addressing Ibrahim.

Ibrahim blinked up at her and, in an instant, found his former charm. Taking her extended arm and bending over it in a gentle bow, he smiled up at her. "Ibrahim Mazur." He placed a kiss to her knuckles and she, ever the romantic, blushed vehemently. Emyl watched the whole exchange under an even hotter gaze – stalking Ibrahim's every move as though he were a grenade about to explode at any moment. Ibrahim, noticing this scrutiny, straightened up and nodded towards Emyl. "Emyl, was it?"

"Guardian Burlatsky," Emyl corrected, not bothering to hide his anger, "if you would." He added, remembering himself.

Ibrahim smirked and then sighed, and I decided to interject before either him or Emyl said something that would make the whole situation worse. "Right, I think we should continue east and find this road."

Ibrahim's smirk faltered and he looked over at me. "Are you sure you are able to-"

"I'm fine." I interrupted glaring a little at him. I had never liked to appear weak. Ibrahim did not look like he believed me for a second, but accepted that I wasn't backing down. "Truly, I am okay."

Ibrahim raised his eyebrows for the serenity in my tone surprised even me; he smiled and complied, bending down to pick up his discarded suit jacket from the floor. I sent a look over to Emyl, telling him to behave. The last thing we needed was, for want of a better term, a Civil War between us: it would hardly make the situation any better. Emyl remained with his mask in place and I realised that he would not be compromising today. The circumstances did warrant a bad mood on his part, but it was irritating all the same. Thus, I allowed Harriet to link her arm with my own and indulged her lively spirits. Honestly, I felt bad for my friend – Harriet was the type of person who wanted to see the good in everything. Ever the optimist, she tried to find joy in any situation. Unfortunately, her company consisted of Emyl and I: both renowned pessimists and, when the going got tough, we had a horrible tendency to shut down and block everyone out. I think it was Harriet's influence that actually kept us vaguely hopeful and forced us both to acknowledge the goodness in the world. Without her, God knows what we'd be like...

With that jolly thought in the forefront of my mind, I was finding it very difficult to maintain an aura of happiness or indeed a conversation, as it turned out. Thankfully, Ibrahim's coping mechanism was his beloved charm which encouraged Harriet enough to keep going. I therefore decided it would be safe to leave Harriet in Ibrahim's care and went to join Emyl up ahead.

Having listened to Harriet's rambles for the best part of an hour, his mood had improved significantly, much to my relief. We were making good time and Emyl's little tree escapade paid off: we had found a road.

It wasn't much: a small little dirt track, just big enough to fit your average pick-up truck, but a road all the same. I all but ran to the thing when I saw its flat surface through the thinning trees, but my better judgement kicked in before I could consent to that form of embarrassment. Noting the sun in the sky beginning to dip, we continued heading east, but this time, following the road. We had been on our feet most of the day, only stopping for water breaks when we needed it. I was only glad that it was April – that the sun was not blasting at its fullest like it would in June or August. Regardless of this however, I could see the effect of a day in the sun on the faces of the two Moroi. Harriet was struggling the most; Ibrahim not so much and for that reason, consequently looked very guilty. It was for these reasons that Emyl and I were positively overjoyed when, just as the sun fully dipped beneath the horizon and plunged us back into the navy abyss, we found it.

A light.

A gentle lamppost acting as a saving beacon of hope as it illuminated the entrance to a small settlement: it couldn't have had more than about twenty people actually living there, barely a letter box, but what it did have was a Motel.

I can honestly say, never before or since have I been so pleased to see a run-down, worn-out housing establishment by the side of the road in my entire life. My glee was shared between all four members of our party as we approached its doorway. I tentatively pushed open the wooden door whilst Emyl dropped back, flanking our group and making sure we were not followed. Inside was about as welcoming as a pile of crap, and the man who was intensely constructing a card tower nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw us, causing his construction to collapse in front of him. When he got over his initial shock of actually having guests, he over-excitedly ran over to us and greeted us like we were the last people on Earth.

Michael was his name. He was forty-two, originally from Pittsburgh, but had moved out because he found the vibrancy of city-life too much. He seemed to very much enjoy his voluntary solitude, even if he spoke quickly and without a breath as a result of not speaking to anyone in a long time. In spite of his spending the last twenty years out in the middle of nowhere, he remembered Pittsburgh very well and even offered us both directions and the abandoned Delta 88 that he had found in his car-park. I had informed Emyl of my plan to get to Pittsburgh and hop on a plane to one of the safe houses during our trek and he had consented to the idea as being quite good.

Michael had set us up in his 'best' room. He had asked if we required more than one, but I strongly suspected leaving Ibrahim in a room with Emyl to do more harm than good, so we elected to stay together.

"Now, if you kids need anything, just give me a ring. I can guarantee I won't be busy." Michael said with a wide smile upon his face, his features softened by his own amusement. He seemed completely impervious to the fact that four young people had just walked into his Motel very late in the evening, one of whom was lacking a shirt sleeve which was located on the palm of another. Under normal circumstances, I would have thought this suspicious, but everything about Michael seemed completely genuine. For that, I offered him a small smile which was promptly dwarfed but Harriet's huge grin as she began thanking him profusely.

I shook my head lightly and wandered into the room. Surveying its contents, I was pleasantly surprised at the level of luxury. Three beds and one sofa provided ample sleeping space and the front view of the window allowed for us to monitor the road and gave us the ability to spot anyone coming into the motel or anyone approaching it from quite a substantial radius. I had made my way over to said window and leaned forward a little just so that my forehead brushed the cool glass to inspect the range of the view. I could see where we had come but any further remained cloaked in darkness. Having been rendered unconscious for a brief period, I had lost most of my bearing and could not even fathom a guess at how far away from Court we had come. Time too seemed to elude me – it felt like an age had passed since the attack, yet it also felt as though it happened yesterday: an age in a day. I'm not sure the full weight of it had hit me at that moment, for indeed I would not allow it; putting it on hold, I sighed and carried on.

I glanced down at my bandaged hand when I heard someone come in. Turning, I met Ibrahim's gaze briefly before spying Emyl behind him, who had managed to pry Harriet away from her conversation with the cheery owner.

"What a lovely man," Harriet stated. I raised an eyebrow. "He was! You know, not everyone is as bad as you think, Janine." She said with a small smile, before her countenance turned and became pained as the familiar symptoms of remembrance flashed across her features. "Do you think she is alright?"

She did not need to elaborate for I knew whom she referred. Sometimes I forgot how close Harriet was to her mother; the very notion itself seemed so alien to me that I struggled to empathise. So I did what I always did: I gave her an honest answer, "I do not know, but I hope for the best."

Harriet, taking this in, nodded. I could see her swallow the lump in her throat before she spoke again. "What is the plan?"

"We're aiming for Pittsburgh," I answered, feeling myself slip into guardian mode.

"That way we can get a plane out to Canada," Emyl interjected softly. Harriet nodded and turned towards one of the beds. Shuffling slightly towards it and sitting herself down, she buried her face into her palms and let her emotions flood over her. Emyl, without hesitation, was by her side in seconds; bringing her towards him and cradling her small frame in his arms, he allowed her to sob against his shirt.

I glanced away, having never really been comfortable or indeed useful in these situations. I hated seeing my best friend upset and felt so utterly powerless to do anything to help.

"Why...?" Harriet's voice was strained but the question was clear, "Why did they do this?"

"We don't even know who they are." Emyl said, I think without actually meaning to, as he continued to soothingly stroke Harriet's long hair.

" _La Luz_."

Emyl frowned. "What?"

"One of the Dhampirs had a tattoo on his neck with that written within it: _La Luz,_ " I said, flashes of the man's limp body running through my mind.

Harriet peaked out from Emyl's torso, "The Light?" she asked incredulously.

I nodded. "Is it some sort of cult?" Emyl asked, his arms still firmly fixed protectively around Harriet's frame.

"I have no idea." I said with a sigh.

"I believe," Emyl, Harriet and I all jumped at the sound Ibrahim's voice, having completely forgotten that he was in the room with us. I glanced over and met his warm eyes which, at that moment, appeared hardened and fixed as he spoke again after clearing his throat. "I believe that I may be of some assistance in that department..."

* * *

 **Hello my dear comrades in Comrade**

 **My, my it has been a while :3 Please forgive me for that, I had my AS's to sit and my brain became an incoherent mush of French Revolution, Seamus Heaney and Trigonometry xD I am really excited to get back into writing – I have had so many ideas over the past couple of months that I've had to put away in some dusty file in my head, but no longer! I am free!**

 **I say that, I am still at college xD We've started A2 now – I hadn't even finished my exams when we started which I just think is ridiculous. Darn you further maths...**

 **But, it is great to be writing again. I really want to get back into it and am considering kick-starting another Romitri story alongside this one. Speaking of this one, I am so happy to be back :D Please leave a review and let me know what you think. I fear I might be a little rusty but hopefully I'll be able to get back into the swing of it. Also, I could really do with some love right now. I was all set to be in a good mood after my exams and then the EU referendum happened... I won't dwell, but let's just say I'm not best pleased right now.**

 **Anyways, here's wishing you all the very best  
Mariarty **


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Academy or anything surrounding it (but I do own this plot :D)**

* * *

JPOV

It is said that you can never truly know a person: even being acquainted all your life does not apparently omit you from this particular notion. It is a statement that is widely acknowledged and I had been often reminded of it at many of the societal 'milestones' in my life; yet, like most of the so-called 'life' advice, I had taken very little notice of it. It was not as though I considered it to be nonsense, or better yet bullshit, like so many of the other mantras that were drilled into our impressionable tweenage minds, but rather the fact that I did not believe I would, at that point, know anyone long enough to feel confident to say that I knew them. Indeed, when Harriet and Emyl had come into my life, it was a shock to say the least, but a pleasant one at that. I'd like to say that I knew them well; I definitely knew them well enough to both like and enjoy their company. I could even go as far as to be able to purchase suitable gifts for them for special occasions from my log of their interests which I had developed over the years. Having both Emyl and Harriet in my life had set me up for the negotiating the whole 'friend/acquaintance' thing and allowed me to develop some ability in the art of judging a character, like in the example of Alastair (though perhaps my assessment of _that_ particular situation was a little off) or in the slightly more positive example of Drew and Ruth. Whilst I would not call myself a proficient on the art, I allowed my conscious to consider myself quite good and reasonably able to decipher the underlying character of an individual and act accordingly upon my discovery.

That was, of course, before I met Ibrahim Mazur...

This was to be the man who would forever remain a constant enigma, one which would relentlessly shock me beyond all reason, peaking at certain moments.

And the night at Michael's Motel? Behold: peak number one.

Emyl, who had already appeared to have taken on a form of dislike towards the said Moroi visibly tensed upon hearing the words _"I believe that I may be of some assistance in that department"_ slip from his lips. I, having completely forgotten his presence, was startled a little moment longer than perhaps I should have been before finding suitable acceptance to frown at the man. "You've heard of them?" my words a tentative inquisition.

Ibrahim's eyes, aflame and alive, locked on my own. "Yes," He raised his head, inhaled deeply and began: " _La Luz_ , or as you quite rightly translated, _The Light,_ is what one may refer to as a 'radical' sect and arguably a cult." He said nodding over to Emyl who took very little notice of the gesture. "It is a group of individuals who share the collective belief in the downfall of our current political structure. Whilst many have objected to certain aspects of the regime of the Royal Court, some go even further to call for its complete disestablishment. _La Luz_ is one such group. They first came to, and I hesitate in saying, the light near the end of the reign of Queen Ekaterina Zeklos after the Royal Court failed to help the residents of Aelshore when they requested it. Three days later, the town was wiped off the map in a vicious Strigoi attack, but instead of admitting their mistake, the Royal Court covered it up so as not to taint their reputation. The Strigoi may have physically destroyed the town, but the Court destroyed all evidence of its existence. This left the survivors of the attack alone, isolated and without an identity, leaving them vulnerable and susceptible to the likes of anyone who would offer them what they wanted. This came in the shape of a woman, one whom remains anonymous to this day. She goes by the name _Abuela_ as she gave the lost and wounded survivors a renewed sense of purpose and unity: she gave them a family.

"Yet with this family, she inflicted her ideology and beliefs, encouraging them to rise up against the Court that had betrayed them. Most of their initial _protestas_ , as they called them,were insignificant and unsuccessful; enough to make the Court deem them unworthy of any particular notice. But the group, unburdened by the notice of their adversaries, continued to grow – forming ranks yet still integrating the illusion of 'family' in their titles: _padre, madre, tia, tio etc._ They slowly, and rather ironically, became much more dominant in the world of the shadows, taking the name _La Luz_ to hark back not only to the Hispanic roots of their leader, but also the era of Enlightenment as they believe we need to be enlightened again."

I couldn't help it, I scoffed. Ibrahim, clearly on what could be defined as a 'roll', jolted out of his trance enough to look up and smile slightly; just so I could see he shared my opinion. One that saw that saw the great hypocrisy of the sect and their infamous _Abuela_ on how they wished to topple one corrupt and autocratic regime with another. The flicker in Ibrahim's gaze stirred something warm within me, in spite of the situation and, not for the first time, I was glad he was here if his shared mindset and surprising expertise on the morning routine of grazing deer were anything to go by.

"So it is this group that is responsible for the attack on Court?" Emyl spoke impartially and steadily, readily taking in the information Ibrahim had imparted whilst simultaneously comforting Harriet with his embrace.

Ibrahim turned to him. "Yes, I believe so."

"Are they known to work with Strigoi?"

"No, this is new..." He said warily, "Though if I was to make an assumption of sorts, I would suggest that they formed an alliance with the Strigoi based on the principal of a common enemy and will, in all likelihood, rid themselves of their new allies once their usefulness has expired."

"And they all follow this _Abuela_ so blindly?" Harriet managed to mumble, for the first time emerging from the security of her guardian's arms.

Both Ibrahim's gaze and tone softened. "Never underestimate the power of belief, Miss Conta. A person's faith can often be their strongest asset"

There followed a slight pause in which Harriet fully untangled herself from Emyl's arms, giving him a smile of thanks as she did. I needed a drink so used the time to make sure the tap in the room was working, filling up a glass of water as Emyl spoke again. "And how is it you know so much about them, Mr Mazur?"

I think it was one of the worst mistakes of my life taking that sip of water just as Ibrahim answered: "Because _Abuela_ and I were business partners..."

* * *

I quickly found myself choking; drowning in the small sip of water I had taken to the extent where I genuinely thought it could kill me. I could see Emyl flinch, and Harriet leap out of her seat to my aid. Once I managed to stop choking and regained some of my former dignity, I snapped my now watering eyes back to Ibrahim. Any of that past gladness or indeed amusement had gone and was replaced with a chilling numbness.

"Janine, are you oka-"

"Explain." I snapped, not really feeling the need to develop that much further.

To his credit, he flinched. Taking a step back, recoiling any comment he may have made. A wise choice as I was in no mood for any sort of restraint. "I was in a partnership with _Abuela_..."

"What kind of partnership?"

"Strictly professional."

I scowled. "That's not what I am asking, and you know it. Stop avoiding the question. What were you partners in?"

"I don't think that this is rele-"

" _What_ kind of partnership?"

He hesitated for a moment before replying, "Arms."

" _Arms!?_ " I ejaculated at the same moment Emyl's head shot up and Harriet's jaw dropped.

"Yes," He said, not able to meet my enraged gaze. "Military arms." He clarified, seeing no point in withholding further information as he could hardly go any further down in our estimation.

"You're telling me..." I began slowly, trying – and failing – to curb my temper, "...you and this cult leader were in a partnership transferring military arms...where? Around the globe?"

He sighed. "Yes." As he spoke, he let his gaze slowly reach mine and appeared taken aback by what he saw. "Janin-"

" _Guardian_ Hathaway." I snapped. "How is it that you failed to mention this _minor_ aspect of your life!? Or did it not seem important enough to you that I should know if I'm talking to a bloody criminal? You are no more than those locked away in Tarasov; no more than a traitor!"

At this, the flare returned to Ibrahim's features as he rose to defend himself. "I am not a traitor. I never was and I'll kindly thank you to cease in jumping to unfounded conclusions."

" _Unfounded conclusions!"_ I scoffed. "I think my 'conclusions' are perfectly founded given that you have just admitted to being partnered with the leader of the group that is not only responsible for the attack on the Royal Court, but is ergo responsible for countless deaths, innumerable injuries and God only knows what else!"

"Guardian Hathaway, perhaps you will allow me to fulfil your earlier request and _explain_." There was an edge to his tone, one that I had never heard before, that halted my venomous tongue: it was cold and all but deadly, one that paralysed my whole frame and even had the spectators of our argument stunned into silence. The chill that lingered in the room was made all the more cinematic by the silence of the night in which Ibrahim's eastern lilt became its only interruption. "Yes, _Abuela_ and I were once partners: ' _were'_ being the operative word in that sentence. I severed all ties with her and _La Luz_ when I found out some of the work that they involved themselves in."

"And what exactly were you 'involved' in?" I said as evenly as I could, folding my arms against my chest in the hope of squeezing some of my body's built-up tension.

I saw him swallow, clenching and unclenching his jaw before answering in a softer tone. "Not anything I am particularly proud of, but unfortunately that is my lot. I have seen the underside of this world and what goes on in the shadows; things I would not wish upon my worst enemy. Diplomacy does not always work and it is in those moments where the underside of the world thrives. Whilst the organisation I am a part of is certainly not legal and its methods perhaps a little primitive, it is what is commonly deemed the 'lesser of two evils'."

 _Bullshit._

I could feel the bile rising within me and I turned my head away, unable to quite frankly stand the sight of him in that moment. I had rather expected that this opinion would be the general consensus of the room, but after a few moments silence I heard Emyl's voice as he continued to ask Ibrahim questions regarding his former 'business' partner.

I spun my glare towards Emyl and after a few moments he noticed. His placid expression remained as he politely requested a minute and walked over towards where Harriet and I stood, respectively bemused and enraged.

"What do you think you are doing?" I hissed, effectively cutting him off.

Recoiling, he made to speak again. "Jenny, I know you're upset..."

"Upset!"

"... _but_ ¸ try and be reasonable. Trust me, I don't like him any more than you do, but he is the only person with some solid information on what the hell is going on and I for one am not willing to pass that up."

He was, of course, right which made the whole thing even harder to swallow. I found myself at a crossroad and one which I had never been at before. When something in the past had conflicted or threatened my morals, I always walked away from it. Granted, I would get quite angry, but that knowledge that I could walk away helped me curb it a little. Not this time though. There was no escaping the fact that I, a guardian who not only swore an oath of protection, but also one of loyalty to the law, was in allegiance with a criminal. And that was who Ibrahim Mazur was: a criminal. A, and pardon my language here, fucking mob-boss no less! The revelation that I had been, quite happily which made it all the worse, helping a man who could, in all probability, have a person killed at the snap of his fingers on that grounds that they were 'in his way' sat in my conscious like toxic oil in pure water. I could see his face over Emyl's broad shoulder and all I felt was disgust: disgust that I had not pushed him away; that I had allow him to call me his "dear friend."

Renewed was the feeling of anger in that moment. I clenched my hands and just about every other muscle in my body in a pitiful attempt of release. "If I find out he had _anything_ to do with the attack..."

"Oh, don't worry!" Emyl said, "I'll rip him apart." I saw Harriet flinch at the vow.

"No, that's my job." I said, glaring over at the Moroi in question, having none of Harriet's reservations. Compromising with myself, I resolved to remain vaguely civilised under the self-assurance that if we managed to get out of this both alive and with a vague sense of political stability, I'd personally put Ibrahim Mazur behind bars. So satisfied I was with this conclusion that I momentarily spaced out of my present environment and all but jumped as I felt a vibration against my hip.

"Janine?" Harriet asked, concern lacing her features as she saw my startled expression. Ibrahim too bore a similar sentiment, but I was determined not to acknowledge it.

Emyl slowly raised his eyebrow as we momentarily tried to discern what would have caused such a reaction telepathically rather than actually looking at where the vibration originated. All of a sudden, I released what it was. With widened eyes, I reached into my pocket and pulled out my pager:

 _Red 5 to Storm. Over._

I could've cried. At that moment, all thoughts of anger towards Ibrahim left my mind and were replaced with an indescribable joy. _Drew!_ I quickly typed a response as the other occupants of the room looked on confused. Within seconds, I received another message: no words, just a number. A phone number.

"Does anyone have a phone?"

Irritably, Ibrahim did. I begrudgingly accepted it and typed the number in, reminding myself that this was a necessary for our survival, justice could come later. It didn't surprise me that signal was limited in Michael's Motel; I had to sweep through the room looking for a single bar. Upon finding it, I froze – typing in the number and hitting call whereupon I placed the device onto the nearby counter like it was a newborn duckling and switched it to speaker, afraid that if were to accidently move, it might just die. Thankfully, it did not and, on the fifth ring, I heard the most joyous sound:

" _If it isn't the Oncoming Storm!"_

"Drew!" I exclaimed, somewhat out of character, but I really didn't care. "Is Ruth there with you?"

I could feel his smile. _"Hey, Ruthie – got someone asking after you..."_ There was a pause which I took as encouragement; and as Ruth retorting something witty as the sound that followed was an offended scoff from Drew. _"Yeah, the minx is fine."_

I bit back my smile. "Where are you guys?"

" _That's a good question. Ruth? Where are we? ... Uh-hu... Right... Apparently, we're near Rochester. I think we were aiming for Buffalo, but missed."_

I rolled my eyes, somewhat glad that Drew's ability to find the joking side to everything had been retained in spite of the events of the past couple of days. "Is there anyone else, or is it just the two of you?"

" _Nah: alongside your two best pals, there's a good bunch of us. Around twenty Moroi and thirteen guardians – bit unlucky, but we'll go with it. We managed to scramble together a mighty few of the SUVs and bolted, but we are treading carefully; stopping for the Moroi, but hoping to get to St. Cats by tomorrow. Croft is here... Oh, and he wants to speak to you. Putting him on."_ There was a pause on the line before a new voice took over from Drew: _"Guardian Hathaway."_

"Sir." I responded, my old formality slipping into place, but I could not quite shake the relief and excitement that I had upon hearing the voices of my former co-workers.

" _Can you state you're present location?"_

"We are still in Pennsylvania, sir. We had no vehicle so travelled through the woodland and are currently at a motel a couple of days walk away from Court."

" _How long are you planning on staying there?"_ The alarm was clear even through his formal tone.

"Not long. The owner has lent us a car and we plan to go to Pittsburgh in the morning."

" _Good. How many have you got with you?"_

"Three, sir. Two Moroi and a guardian."

" _Names?_

"Harriet Conta, Ibrahim Mazur and Emyl Burlatsky."

" _Mazur?"_ I could hear the tone change in his voice and my expression hardened as I heard it. _"I am on speaker?"_

"Yes, sir..." I replied, very, much confused as to his reaction.

" _Good. Mazur, are you there?"_

I glanced over to Ibrahim, who appeared just as perplexed at this turn of events as I was. Giving me and my tensed posture an apprehensive look, he swallowed and made to speak, "I am here, Croft was it?"

" _That is correct. I hope you do not mind, but – given the circumstances – I am about to be frank."_

Ibrahim remained unaffected. "I think that would be practical."

It was then that Guardian Croft embarked on a speech that rekindled my previous anger towards Ibrahim, but that anger was now shared across to Guardian institute. _"As I am sure you are aware, we are not oblivious to the presence of your involvement in a certain...organisation and all its doings, but perhaps, in this instance, this will work in our advantage. You were once partnered with the political extremist group, La Luz, were you not?"_

"We were." He said, his eyes briefly flashing towards my own.

" _You are not surprised by my bringing them up."_

Ibrahim smiled. "Not at all. I can, with confidence, confirm your theory of their involvement."

" _As I feared. It appears the severity of the situation has just increased."_

"Indeed, Guardian Croft."

"The guardian world was aware of _La Luz_ 's presence?" Emyl spoke up for the first time.

" _Burlatsky, I am assuming. Yes, we continued to monitor them after the Court dismissed them; picking up rumours and intercepting what communications we could. It was not 'till recently that we fully released the extent of the organisation and by then, there was little to be done."_

"So you just gave up." I could not stop the words from tumbling out of my mouth.

" _Not at all, Hathaway. I am sure you, of all people, appreciate the need for thought before jumping into battle."_

"Forgive me, sir."

" _It is no matter. What is, however, is getting back control of the Court. We cannot allow for this sect to retain the power that they have and, more importantly, we must initiate a rescue of all those under imprisonment. Particularly since one of those could be Tatiana herself."_

"Then we must act fast," Emyl said, "We are planning to leave tomorrow, early. We can catch a plane from Pittsburgh and meet you at St. Catherine's."

There was a pause: a moment of silence which lasted long enough to engage both my concern and curiosity. I frowned and made to speak, but was halted by Croft's voice. _"No."_

"No, sir?" I said, glancing towards Emyl and briefly to Ibrahim; both their expressions reflecting my own.

" _No. There is an opportunity here, a slight one, but one all the same. The last telegram we intercepted came through just before the attack. Its origin was Portsmouth."_

"They are in New Hampshire?" Emyl said, somewhat surprised.

" _Alas not: Portsmouth, United Kingdom."_

"Ah."

" _Indeed, but this was a shipping address. If we can cut their supply chain, take away their resources, then we can significantly weaken them – perhaps enough to launch an assault."_

It was then that the full weight of his implication hit me. "You wish us to England?"

" _Yes. Whilst it may not appear it, your present situation may be more fortuitous than you imagine. You are already in the field and I have faith enough in you to maintain a reasonable sense of hope. Heaven forbid that Harrison were in your place… My concern is the Moroi. Mazur, whilst limited by his disposition, I believe will be an invaluable resource, but you said you had another… Perhaps I could send someone to Pittsburgh to collect Miss Cont-"_

"No!" I think the whole room may have jumped at Harriet's voice. The girl in question flushed at the attention in the room, "That is to say…I mean…I want to help."

Emyl's face drained of all colour as Harriet stuttered out that last sentence. My own heart caught in my chest, slowing down before painfully speeding up again.

Remarkably, it was the one person who was not in the room that sorted himself out first. _"Miss Conta, I-"_

Yet he did not get far, for Harriet's new sense of empowerment willed her to interject before he could say anything else. "No. I have no desire to be shipped off to a sanctuary whilst I could be helping. I could not bear it. Please. They have my mother…" The waver in her voice nearly broke my painfully-beating heart. I could see the quarrel in her eyes – the pain of being separated from her family, from her mother (someone whom she had always relied) was overriding her need for her own safety. In the same way that Guardian Croft had, Harriet had just been given an opportunity; an opportunity to help, and potentially _save_ , her mother from the clutches of a radicalised revolution and she was not going to pass that up. Truly, I think in that moment, Harriet had forgotten her limitations; forgotten the danger that this would entail. She was the purest soul I had ever met, which sometimes lead her to the realm of naivety. But if it was right, if it was good, I did not think that the Devil himself could stand against Harriet Conta.

That resolve was there; both Emyl and I could see it and we knew we would not be able to talk her out of it. She looked at us, _begging_ us with her gaze, with a determination that would not succumb to her fear.

" _I understand, Miss Conta. Truly, I do. But it would be much better if-"_

"If we could book the tickets in advance." I snapped my head round to Ibrahim only to see him looking at Harriet. "Save the _four_ of us a little trouble when we get to Pittsburgh." Harriet's eyes widened and welled up as they did. She mouthed her gratitude and Ibrahim acknowledged with a slight upward twitch of his lips before turning back towards the phone. I remained frozen in my place, catching Emyl's pained and distant expression in the corner of my eyes.

There was a pause before Croft spoke again. _"Very well. When do expect to arrive in Pittsburgh?"_

"Not before noon." Ibrahim continued, accepting that no-one else would be doing any talking for a while. As he and Croft arranged the travel, I found myself lost in my own thoughts. My head was still whirling from the revelation of Ibrahim's involvement with not only the sect that we deemed responsible for the attack on our home, but also his involvement with the criminal world as a whole. I thought back to every time I had seen him: wandering around in the shadows. I wondered for a moment if Tatiana knew – for it appeared he was _very_ close with the Queen, for what reason, I dared not think – or if it was just a dark secret. A very dark secret.

And then there was Harriet. Sweet, sweet Harriet! I could completely empathise with her want, nay _need_ , to be involved, yet I could not bear the thought of harm coming to her. And I knew I was not the only one. I had long since suspected that Emyl's regard for his charge went beyond mere concern and friendship. Seeing him now, horror-stricken and genuinely looking like he could burst into tears at any moment, only cemented my suspicions. If he could, Emyl would have built an entire fortress around her, just so that no harm could ever even come in a five-mile radius. He would remain glued to her side, not letting her out of his sight for more than a second. I daresay he'd keep his eyes open for all eternity lest he blink and she be gone.

Harriet took that moment and retreated back; falling to the side of one of the three beds of the room, she clasped her hands together and prayed. Her strawberry-blonde locks falling to cover her face. Emyl watched her intently, before striding over and, in three quick steps, sought to comfort her for the second time that evening. I fell back against the sofa just as Ibrahim hung up the phone. He, unsurprisingly, seemed the most emotionally stable out of us all. I suppose, he didn't really know Harriet that well and therefore could not know how catastrophic the loss of her mother would be on her, but I could see the empathy in his eyes which made me wonder.

Shaking my thoughts away, I found myself too weary and too drained to even admonish myself for feeling anything other than anger towards the Moroi. I limply flopped back onto the sofa and winced as I landed on my pager. Removing it without getting up, I tossed it onto the ground, rolled over to face the back and forced myself asleep.

* * *

 **Things are picking up...**

 **I do apologise for the delay. I say 'I'm back!' and then go on a two week hiatus xD Classic. It turns out you can't do four things at once and expect to hand them in on time xD Also, this is quite an important chapter plot-wise so I have been faffing around with the speech here, I still don't think I'm satisfied with it, but I don't think it fair to leave you guys another week.**

 **Also, as a side note, I was ridiculously over-exciting upon the discovery of a place called _Rochester_ so near to where this story is set. I literally just had to put it in xD I am literally fangirling over a _set_ text! I don't even care: I love Jane Eyre so much :P**

 **Also, many thanks to hbarker for the reassurance. It hopefully won't be too bad - I think I was just quite angry given that a) the referendum had just happened and b) I wasn't allowed to vote :( One more year!**

 **Anyway... :3 Please do tell me what you think. I never really imagined Janine Hathaway taking Abe's...choice of career, shall we say, too well :3 She always struck me as someone with some very strong morals and I hope I managed to capture even a fragment of that. Hoped you liked it all the same :D**

 **Here's wishing you all the best  
** **Mariarty**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Academy or anything surrounding it (but I do own this plot :D)**

* * *

JPOV

I awoke to the smell of coffee. Raising my head slightly, I found my neck stiff from the fitful sleep on the room's sofa. I was surprised to find a blanket draped over my huddled frame, but thought little of it considering Harriet was in the room.

 _Harriet._

I opened my eyes fully and jolted upright to see my friend leaning against the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee in her hand. She smiled gingerly, before turning around, picking up a new mug and offering it to me. I accepted as she sat down beside me. We were silent for but a moment before she spoke.

"I had to."

I, taking a deep breath that filled me with the bitter aroma of caffeine in the morning, smiled. "I know."

The tension in her shoulders released and she leaned back against the seat. "I was worried you wouldn't understand. You were so angry last night."

"That wasn't your fault."

She sighed. "I know, but…"

"…but I'm not reasonable when I'm angry?" I offered and she smiled.

"Maybe not always."

I chuckled into the mug. "You are too kind, Harriet. Emyl would have told me I am awful when angry."

There was a flash of sadness across her features. "I have really upset him."

I glanced up to locate the third member of our trio, but could not find him. "He just needs a little time." A little time, may have been optimistic, but I kept that to myself. Harriet nonetheless relented and went back to slowly circling her mug in her hand. The bathroom door opened and Ibrahim stepped out, still drying his hands. He caught my gaze and hesitated a little. I remained placid, not willing to address the fact that I would have to be working with him and more importantly, _guarding_ him. Since it was given that Emyl would not be going more than five minutes without checking Harriet was okay, it would therefore fall to me to protect the _other_ one. An odd sort of growl escaped my lips at that thought, catching Harriet's attention.

"He's not that bad." She said.

"He is a criminal." I stated, matter-of-factly.

She sighed. "He's helping us."

"Annoyingly." I muttered, not particularly caring that I sounded like a twelve-year-old.

Harriet shook her head lightly as Ibrahim approached. "Good morning, ladies." He said, bowing to each of us.

Since I was very much looking the other way, doing my darned best to ignore the hateful man in front of me, Harriet decided to speak for the group. "Good morning, Mr Mazur. How are you?"

"As well as expected." Harriet offered an apologetic smile as the door to our room opened. Emyl strode in, observed the scene in front of him before holding up a set of car keys.

"From Michael."

Michael, as it turned out, wasn't too pleased to see us go. Whether that was down to our company or our money, I could not say. Perhaps a mix of them both. The prospect of paying slightly alarmed me as I had not much in the way of funds and, since I was still in my guardian uniform, did not have the card that linked to the account I had been forced to set up in my last week at St Vlads. Neither, for that reason, did Emyl. In fact, I was genuinely quite worried when we approached the front desk to bid farewell to our amiable host.

But of course Ibrahim had his chequebook.

There was no denying that Ibrahim was, to quote Croft, an 'invaluable resource', but that only made him more irritating. I was determined to hate the man – his lawlessness was everything that I stood against and even his somewhat 'redeemable' qualities had now turned sour. All of a sudden, Emyl's initial conduct towards the man, which I had condemned, now made perfect sense. I was actually awed by the self-control of my friend that he hadn't given in and punched Ibrahim in the face.

A seriously tempting notion...

Unfortunately, I was forced into civility. Michael had insisted that we take the Delta 88 and would not hear our protests. "You would be doing me a favour, young friends," he assured after Harriet had asked if he was sure for the fifth time. I had to admit, I too felt a little bad just taking a car, but was nonetheless taken aback when I saw the sum Ibrahim was writing to Michael. Honestly, I was surprised the poor man didn't have a heart attack when it was given to him and, in a wonderful moment of circularity, it was now we who were waving off his protests.

We left that little motel, with the full assurance that we'd be most welcome any time we ever found ourselves lost in the middle of Pennsylvania, and piled into the vehicle. I really wasn't surprised that it had been abandoned: the chipped navy paint had almost dissolved to rust and provided very little protection to the slowly decomposing inside. Its long bonnet hung over front wheels that screamed "kill me now" and I really can begin on the state of the suspension.

Emyl and I looked at each other for a moment before arriving at the same conclusion:

"Rock, paper, scissors."

"Damn it!"

Emyl was driving. With me riding in shotgun, the Moroi settled into the back. I saw Harriet's hesitancy as she approached the proffered open door and even Ibrahim grimaced upon clambering in afterward. Thankfully, neither party complained and once Emyl had returned from the toilet, we were off.

Contrary to my original belief, the journey was not half as awful as I had expected it to be. There was a brief initial silence before Harriet, never one to cope in awkward situations, turned to talk to Ibrahim. Soon after, there was the first inevitable argument between Emyl and myself as he doubted my ability to navigate:

"Right!? What madness has come over you, Jenny!"

"Which of us has the map?"

"You know, there are these wonderful things called road signs which say we go left."

"I'm telling you its right. Michael said to go right."

"No offense to the man, but he hasn't left that motel since he arrived. I'm going left."

Ten minutes later, we discovered which of us was right.

"Not a word, Hathaway..."

It was well into the afternoon, the sun giving gentle flickers of its weariness and desire to sink beneath the horizon, when we arrived in the outskirts of Pittsburgh. Since we had come from the east, we had to make our way through the streets of the city at nearly prime-time driving. Being stuck in traffic, surrounded the ever-oblivious human world, gave us ample time to discuss the particulars of what was going to happen. We were to meet a man called Brian. If I'm being honest, I highly doubted that this was his actual name, but 'Brian' was what was commonly called an Alchemist. I had only briefly heard about the Alchemists, but from what I knew – they didn't like us. Croft had apparently made contact with a small group who based themselves in Pittsburgh and they had agreed to send this 'Brian' with our plane tickets and a few other "essential" resources, as Croft said over the phone. As ominous as that sounded, it wasn't quite as bad as the "meet Brian in an abandoned warehouse in Rosslyn Farms" that followed.

Regardless of the tone of the instruction, it was an instruction nonetheless and, after far too long trying to negotiate the Pittsburgh motor system, we found the building and we found Brian.

"Brian?" I asked the man standing with his arms folded against his chest. He was a thin man with eyes that were too large for his bony face, thereby giving him an almost skeletal appearance. Across the side of his cheek was a golden tattoo, in the shape of a lily. I was not so ignorant to not know that it was the symbol of the Alchemist movement, but I could not help but think back to the gold, compass tattoo on the back of Dhampir's – the one I killed – neck. A shiver trickled up my spine at the memory, but I was brought out of it by the man's response:

"If you like." The bitterness was clear and I couldn't stop the eye roll that followed on my part. I walked up to him, Emyl at the back and the Moroi between us, and took the bag from his arm. "The tickets are in the front pocket." He said.

I checked and they were, so I was slightly glad that Brian wasn't being unhelpful. Opening up the main part, I had a quick rummage through. In it, I found passports – fake ones of course, but they somehow managed to get the four of our faces onto them with expert precision. There was money, various burner phones, some spare stakes and to one side, a collection of metallic bottles. I frowned, picking one up and opening it up to see its contents:

Blood _._

I glanced up at Brian who just looked bored. "And how to you expect us to get this through customs?" I wasn't completely sure, but I had a feeling that the human authorities would find four youths with bag full of blood as a little suspicious.

Brain seemed unaffected, "The bottles have been enchanted – they are shrouded in compulsion magic and vampiric blood which makes them invisible to humans as well as machinery."

I was quite impressed, but definitely not willing to give the spiteful man in front of me the satisfaction of knowing that so just nonchalantly put the lid back on and shoved it back into the bag. "Anything else?"

"Was that not enough?" I scowled, unintentionally provoking a smirk on Brian's behalf. "Your charismatic leader said you'd be sorting yourselves out when you get to England."

I assumed by that he meant he was done. I nodded, affirming his information as it was the same thing Croft had told us. Apparently, this was where Ibrahim's expertise came in, of which I wasn't too pleased about. Invariably, we would be meeting someone part of the...'organisation' Ibrahim was a part of. With that jolly thought resurfacing in my mind, I slumped the bag over my shoulder and fully intended to clump back to the car without a word of gratitude when we were momentarily held up by the subject of my musings.

"Thank you, Timothy. A pleasure as always, send my love to the girls."

I glanced over my shoulder for a second to see the Alchemist's face pale and harden; the fear in his eyes unmistakable. I could not help the upward turn of my lips but I could turn my face around so that Ibrahim wouldn't see. With Emyl and I scanning the area for any sign of danger, we piled back in the decomposing car and continued to the airport.

I had never been to a human airport before. The ones I was used to were that of the Academy's and the Court's and certainly nothing like the art-show that was Pittsburgh International Airport. I mean, it was no wonder that the place had so much pre-flight security! The likes of which took absolutely a lot longer than I had initially anticipated; it also didn't help that the woman at one of the tills kept glancing over my shoulder to ogle Ibrahim, nor did it help that said Ibrahim was actively encouraging it. I suppose on the plus side, it did mean that she wasn't really paying much attention to our false passports and so we were let through without much of a fuss, arriving at the terminal with two hours to spare before our flight. Harriet, with her ever-curious mind, was thrilled at the prospect of being so intermingled with human society and, more importantly, their environment. She therefore begged a slightly worn-down Emyl if she could go exploring. How much 'exploring' she could do in an airport was open to debate, but Emyl was hardly one to sit idly for two hours awaiting a plane and was certainly not going to let Harriet out of his sight for any length of time, so agreed happily.

Leaving me with Ibrahim.

Or rather not, I discovered. I had watched Emyl and Harriet, after inviting me along which I respectfully declined, walking off into one of the little shops that adorned the walls of the airport and then turned to Ibrahim to find he was not there. Panic arose within me and I shot up – poised like a wary antelope upon hearing the stealthy yet not entirely silent movements of a lion. My head dart around me, bearing more likeness to a meerkat than a person, as I logged everything around me, desperately searching for Ibrahim's tattered suit and flaming presence.

"Guardian Hathaway,"

I jumped – leaping to my feet and reaching for my stake as I spun in the air to face the source of the noise. Ibrahim, startled at my reaction, stepped back and held his arms above his head which, as he was holding two cups of coffee, made him look a little silly.

"For Pete's sake!" I said as I breathed a sigh of utter relief.

Ibrahim, evidently mildly entertained by this little show, smiled. "I am beginning to realise that perhaps sneaking up on you in not the best thing for my wellbeing."

I scowled. "You think?"

He chuckled. "I thought you would like something to drink. Caffeine okay?" He extended his arm towards me, offering me the cup.

I paused for a moment, considered my options, and decided to take it. "Thank you."

"My pleasure." He said, coming around the side of the bench to sit down beside me. He flopped into the partially cushioned chair and sighed, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. I watched him for a moment, scrutinising his form as I tried (again) to work out what went on in that head of his – as if I could work him out in just one moment. Realising that I was failing (again), I relented and sat down, even more irritated than before.

Ibrahim opened an eye. "Guardian Hathaway?"

"What?" I snapped.

"Are you alright?"

Not going to lie, I could've smacked him. "I'm fine."

"You're lying."

I snapped my head round. "And how exactly do you know this, Mr Mazur?"

He opened both eyes. "Because no-one who is ever fine says 'I'm fine'."

I sat back and huffed, bringing the cup to my lips in an attempt to find solace with coffee. Ibrahim, clearly not haven got the message that this conversation was now over, leaned forward and settled his gaze upon me.

"What has changed?"

I removed the cup and looked at him, not believing that he had just said that. "Excuse me?"

"What has changed?" he repeated whilst frowning, as though he couldn't comprehend the reason for my hostility.

"Are you seriously asking me that question?" I retorted with admirable coldness.

Ibrahim was, however, undeterred, "Yes. I can understand your objection but I am struggling to account for your enmity."

"Have you considered that my _objection_ may be the reason for my _enmity_?" I replied sarcastically.

"You were perfectly civil before-"

" _Before_ I found out you were some mob-leader." I elected to finish his sentence for him. Save him the trouble of having to come up with some heinous attempt at justification.

For the first time, I think, in our entire acquaintance, I saw him scowl. "I am not a mob-leader."

"No, you are just some lowly criminal."

He sighed loudly. "Is it so impossible for you to see an opinion other than your own? I am helping to _protect_ your world."

" _I_ am helping to protect it. _You_ are just giving those who we need protecting from military-grade weaponry, apparently."

"Yes, so they might fight among themselves, because, Guardian Hathaway, these cults, these gangs, these sects are like competing tribes and when have you ever heard the story where the outside colonists, who came charging in with their diplomacy and their military rulings, completely eradicate the tension and achieve ever-lasting peace? There will still be insurgents and it is far better to keep their world and yours separate because clashes between those worlds, like the one we have just witnessed, get messy." And with that he rose, long since abandoning his coffee, and strode away to begin pacing up and down near the terminal's entrance.

Me? I remained frozen, locked onto my seat. There was a small voice in my head telling me to go after him, not so I could continue this conversation but more that I was still responsible for his welfare and life, but was saved the effort when, after a few moments, he came striding back.

"Guardian Hathaway, I must apologise for my behaviour. It was incredible callous, I am sorry." I could not fault his sincerity but his countenance told me that his temper had not quite curbed yet.

I decided to respond with caution. "Thank you Mr Mazur, though I feel the fault is on both parts."

He nodded stiffly as his eyes looked anywhere and everywhere bar on me. "I am sorry that you do not think what I do has any value and that you regard it with such hostility, but the circumstances in which we find ourselves in have not changed: the danger is still very much there and it would be a lot easier, for us all, if we are not fighting an internal as well as an external war."

He was, of course, right. Something I think I had been too prideful and too stubborn to admit to earlier. There was little point in my quest to loath the man that stood before me, or at least make my dislike irrefutably known to the wider world, and with hindsight the futility was made all the more transparent. _All's fair in love and war_ indeed. I relented, nodding my affirmation and agreement on the matter. I would be civil: I would not like him, but I would be civil.

And I decided to start right away, hoping that it would relieve some of the tension that still hung in the air like shadows at sunrise. "What is the plan for when we land?" I figured I should at least have some insight on the matter, particularly as it gave me something else to think about.

Ibrahim, noting the change in my tone, visibly relaxed and retook his seat next to me, moving the forgotten coffee away. "We will need to get on a train; my associate..." he hesitated, "...has a place in one of the towns on route to Brighton."

I frowned. "We are not going into London?"

He shook his head. "Wrong direction, if we want to go to Portsmouth."

"Fair enough."

"I have asked him to gather any information he can on _La Luz_ and _Abuela_ so hopefully we should have some more intel when we get there."

I nodded before I caught sight of something over Ibrahim's shoulder. Emyl met my eyes and made to return my smile but Harriet managed to drag him into another shop to the right. My smile increased and I laughed inwardly. Ibrahim noticed and turned round to just make out Emyl's tall frame before he was engulfed in the small shop.

"Will she be safe?" The words slipped through my lips before my brain to process what was happening.

Ibrahim turned back around and locked onto my wary gaze. "Janine, I will do everything that I can to make sure you are all safe." It was a declaration that I believed and gave me the reassurance I needed in that moment, enough to overlook the fact he had called me by my first name.

I gave my thanks in my smile. "Likewise."

The flight, when we were finally called, was remarkably unnoteworthy. Due to the linearity between Pittsburgh and London Gatwick, as the airport was called, the journey had been split, albeit unevenly, in two. The first plane took us to JFK and then we caught another to Gatwick. Now for someone who was not a fan of planes a whole, _two_ planes really took their toll on our dear Guardian Burlatsky. He found himself stationed, on both instances, in the aisle seat next to Harriet and in front of Ibrahim and myself, arranged similarly. I could see his knuckles whiten as the clenched the arm of the chair, Emyl refusing to let his fear show on his face. How he managed to maintain a decent degree of conversation with his charge is still very much a mystery to this day. Ibrahim and I helped a little, but I think that was more to do with the uncomfortable and numerous silences that passed between us on the first flight. Thank God for Harriet Conta.

Since the first flight was only an hour and a half long, they really didn't go all out on the comfort factor of the plane. I therefore hobbled off with a bordering on painful butt cramp, which, unsurprisingly, the rest of my party found highly entertaining. However, given that the second flight was to be significantly longer, Ibrahim decided that economy would not do and upgraded us to first class. This of course involved him disappearing for a moment which, when I momentarily lost sight of him, had me forgetting the butt cramp in favour of panic. Honestly, I was surprised I hadn't succumbed to a heart attack yet. Not just because of Ibrahim, though that would have been enough, but the fact that the airport continued to delay our flight, resulting in the layover at JFK being about the same length as the entire trip, did not help matters. I found myself constantly on edge, particularly as we were quite vulnerable where we were. I wasn't sure what the average number of Strigoi that loitered around airports was – it wasn't exactly top of Guardian Thomson's list when she was taking us through Advanced Strigoi Habitation in the tenth grade – but it did not appear to be many. We hadn't encountered any 'vampiric threats' as of yet, for which I was immensely grateful, but not in any way relaxed. The lack of threat just made everything else seem like a threat. I knew I needed to calm myself down. Guardian Paranoia was certainly _not_ something I wanted to add to the already huge list of issues that I was currently facing at that moment.

So you can imagine my relief when our flight was finally called.

"I am a genius."

I glanced over at the self-confessed brain-box. "Modesty becomes you."

Ibrahim smirked. "You _cannot_ argue that this is not good." He stated, gesturing around him to the luxury that was first class.

I raised an eyebrow.

He chuckled to himself, repositioning himself and stretching out his legs in the vast amount of legroom that spanned out before us. "Would you like some wine? I would like some wine." He gestured over to the hostess to convey his order.

"It is eleven o'clock at night." I pointed out.

"Not in London..." He said with a wink. I shook my head and looked over to check if the other members of our group were okay. The lack of sleep appeared to be catching up with Harriet and she had settled herself into her assumed sleeping position. Emyl was watching both her and the plane around them carefully, trying to take his mind off the clawing his fingers were doing against the seat. Emyl and I had made a pact during the layover at JFK, that one of us should remain awake at all times. I had offered to take the first shift, but – from the looks of it – I didn't think Emyl would be sleeping any time soon.

The hostess came back with the requested bottle and two glasses. I tried to get her to take one of them away, but Ibrahim had waved her off before I had the chance. "You know that I am working, right?"

"Ah, Guardian Hathaway, but what is work without a little fun." He said whilst pouring the rosy liquor into the small, plastic glasses.

"You seem to be having way too much fun." I muttered, deciding to hold back the comment about his 'work'. "You really should get some sleep."

"Are you?"

"No-"

"Then that decides it." He cut me off. "I can't go falling asleep whilst you strain to keep yourself awake."

"I am not straining."

He leaned towards me. "Guardian Hathaway, please know that I mean no offense by what I am about to say, but you look absolutely shattered."

I scowled. "Thanks."

He chuckled again and, leaning back, took a sip of his wine before his eyes made their way back to me. "Come on, just one drink..." he haggled.

I fixed him with my stare and effectively shot down his plea. "No."

"It does not have to be a whole glass."

I cocked a brow. "Is this how you negotiate deals normally? No wonder you're not in charge."

To the shock of not just me, but to the fellow passengers around us, Ibrahim burst out laughing. His voice was deep yet not so deep to appear completely intimidating. There was an almost childishness about it that startled me more than the fact he was laughing out loud and hadn't just suppressed it into his usual chuckle. It was also loud. Very loud. The aforementioned passengers – those who were still awake, or had been woken up by Ibrahim's outburst – were expressing their disapproval through angered glares, looking over at the maniac who was making such a racket at on an eleven o'clock flight.

Ibrahim either didn't care or seemed blissfully unaware of the attention he was attracting, not least from Emyl who had taken a break from documenting every passenger on the flight to turn around and frown at the two of us. Thankfully for me, and mercifully for the rest of the plane, Ibrahim's jest died down. "I can assure you, I am much better when it's important."

"I'm not important, then?" I shrugged. He gave me a fixed look before shaking his head in his amusement. I smiled. "You walked into that one."

"I really did." He took another sip. "Well, if you are not drinking then you are watching. Pick one."

I wasn't getting out of this. Ibrahim forced me to pick a film from the on board entertainment catalogue and then forced me into watching it. I think it would've been the most humiliating death in history if we were to be attacked and I couldn't defend us because I was too busy watching _Ferris Bueller's Day Off._ Nonetheless, that was how I occupied my time on the flight to Gatwick, accompanied by Ibrahim and I's running commentary in lowered voices as the guy sitting behind us had made quite clear that he intended to sleep and any attempt on our part to hinder that desire would be met with severe brutality.

I awoke with a start, not having realised I had actually fallen asleep, a good few hours later. My head had somehow decided to position itself on Ibrahim's shoulder, but was quickly persuaded to move when I got my bearings and sensibility back. Ibrahim didn't stir and I really hoped he didn't notice that I had used him as a pillow. I didn't have long to compose myself before the pilot's voice came over the speaker and awoke the rest of the plane.

We had arrived...

* * *

 **Привет мой товарищи в Товарищ! Как** **дела** **?**

 **Guess who's just spent an hour practising their Russian? Haha xD Please feel free to correct that, by the way; I am not entirely sure it's completely correct. I seem to keep confusing my 'mys', if that makes sense :3**

 **Well, I do hope I find you well and that summer is treating you good too. I'm having quite a bit of fun and casually ignoring the fact that I had** _ **nine**_ **books to read and three** **big essays to prepare for :0000 To be fair, most of this is self-inflicted so I really shouldn't be complaining xD**

 **I hope you liked the chapter – it is taking me so long to write these, for which I am incredibly sorry, but I seem to keep finding myself completely brain-dead these days. Regardless though, I am still very much enjoying this story. Particularly now that I have shifted them to the UK :D Haha, no more Google maps for me – I know this stuff! Actually, while I was writing this chapter, I was looking up plane flights between London and Pittsburgh just to get the time frame right and my mum walked in and was like, "what are you doing" xD**

 **Oh, speaking of planes, if anyone is reading from Croatia firstly, hello :D And secondly, I would really care for some insight. My family and I are going on our first holiday abroad and we are going to Dubrovnik :D I am so excited for this, particularly because the city is** _ **beautiful**_ **. Honestly, it is like a work of art just looking at it! Also the history is absolutely incredible which for someone who adores history is a major plus :) But if you guys have any information or cool things to do or see, I would absolutely love to hear it :D I managed to binge watch all six series of** _ **Game of Thrones**_ **after having read the first three books and hearing that they filmed it in Dubrovnik so I am ready for that xD**

 **As ever, here's wishing you all the best  
Mariarty **


	11. Chapter 11

**Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Academy or anything surrounding it (but I do own this plot :D)**

* * *

JPOV

It was raining.

I was standing outside the public toilet on the platform, awaiting Harriet's emergence. Whilst I could not see them, I knew Emyl and Ibrahim were in a similar state. We had decided that, given the long hours combined with an unhealthily limited amount of sleep, this was the appropriate time to crack open some of the blood supply. Obviously, this could not be done in the open and on a crowded platform awaiting the 16:19 Southern service, which apparently 'will now arrive at 16:37'. From the shelter of the platform I could see the darkened sky from which the heavy droplets fell. I had always imagined that people were exaggerating when they said that it was constantly raining in the UK, but apparently not.

Harriet poked her head out after a few more moments which I had spent as I normally did in crowded places: people watching. If we were going to move through England with as little issue as possible, it would probably be best that we blended into normal society though I didn't feel that British culture was too far a step from my own. I had a brief moment of flashback as my mind remembered the Graduation Ball where I had stood at the side, looking on. Where I had first met Ibrahim. There was a real sense of 'how the hell did I get _here_?' in that moment as I struggled to fathom what had happened in the mere months that followed that last night at St Vladimir's Academy, but I found myself quick to discard any nostalgic concern as it would do nothing but make the already weighty emotional burden even worse.

In an effort to get moving, Harriet and I quickly made our way through the crowd, the former of us apologising to every person we accidently brushed as we snaked through them, to the agreed meeting point. Ibrahim and Emyl were already standing there, both expectant and a little on edge. Emyl managed to part with some of the tension in his shoulders when he saw Harriet, but still remain very much on guard.

"All good?" Emyl asked, managing to convey an entire plethora of inquiries in just two words, as was his character.

I nodded my response whilst continuing to survey the environment around me. There were too many people for my liking. Too many to keep track of, too many dangers. _If only the Academy could see me now_ , I thought to myself as my eyes brushed past the swarm of humanity, lingering occasionally on ones looked my way or even simply reached for a cigarette lighter. The field work at St Vlads, which once had seemed so advanced and complex, seemed pitiful in comparison. I could see Emyl was having similar thoughts and we were almost glad when the train finally showed up, just to get off the platform.

Though how we deluded ourselves into thinking the train was much better was beyond me.

"How far is it?" I wheezed as I found myself pressed uncomfortably against Ibrahim's back with Harriet behind me and Emyl towering above the whole carriage.

"Two stops." He replied, managing to lean back a little to convey the information in a whisper.

I sighed, supposing it wasn't that bad, when I saw a man leering over at me with a look of startling disapproval. I frowned. "Why is he staring at me?"

I could feel Ibrahim's smile. "Because you are breaking the unspoken rule."

"What rule?"

"No talking on commuter trains."

I was suddenly very grateful for the short ride. The man was still glaring at me, even as we left; it was somewhat of a good thing that there was no room to move in that cramped vestibule otherwise I would've smacked him in the face. Minding the gap, I squeezed out of the train and stumbled onto the platform, steadied by Ibrahim. He cast me a look asking if I was okay to which I simply yanked my arm away and glared at him. _Own battles, mate._

"I see you haven't lost your charm..." A voice chuckled from behind me as the train slowly pushed its way out of the station's platform, its wheels groaning painfully as it dragged its heavy body against the cold, metallic rails.

"It is an eternal blessing." Ibrahim responded whilst I turned my head to look at the origin of the new voice: a man – Moroi for sure – stood leisurely with his hands gently tucked into the pockets of his jeans. He was of substantial height, not uncommon for Moroi, and pale in complexion, again pretty common, but his features seemed softer, more pleasant and light. The sharp contours normally featured in the vampiric structure had been softened and smoothed over. He had wide eyes with grey iris' situated under think eyebrows that marked the start of a vast forehead, made wider by the line of his raven hair which had been slicked-back against his scalp and through which he, whether sub-consciously or consciously (it was hard to tell), ran his fingers.

"Abe." He greeted in a polite nod and bow, something that seemed completely normal when coupled with his thick RP accent.

With the audience made of confused and a little baffled Harriet, Emyl and myself, Ibrahim responded with a smile. "Charles."

* * *

Charles wasn't actually Charles.

On the short walk from the station to where we were staying for the night, I learnt a number of things. The first being the above. 'Charles' was actually Vincent Alexander Cronan who had grown up in the south east of England, boarding at the St Mont's Academy in rural East Anglia, which had given him a very particular upbringing. It apparently didn't help that he was technically Vincent Alexander Cronan _the Third_. Not long after graduating, he made the acquaintance of certain individuals who, and I quote, 'will remain anonymous', and was thrust into their organisation, who found who had found his bizarre and diverse range of magical abilities very useful.

"What do you mean you didn't specialise?" My brow furrowed at the very thought. It was unheard of that a Moroi did not specialise, or at least so frowned upon it was unspoken.

Charles – Vincent – merely shrugged. "I never had that particular calling to any of the element as Moroi are supposed to. I only settled with fire in the end to graduate respectively." He explained, running his fingers through his hair. "But my not specialising allowed me to develop all four abilities, as well as some of my own."

I deepened my frown. " _'Some of your own'_?"

He smirked. "Ah, that would be telling. Fear not, I do not go shape-shifting beast in the light of the moon, however entertaining that would be."

I scowled a little, already seeing the similarities between and the influence of a certain other Moroi within the demeanour of the man in front of me. "If you don't mind my asking, why does Ibrahim call you _Charles_ and not _Vincent_?"

"Ibrahim? Oh, you mean Abe. It has been a long standing joke – when I first joined, I found myself in a room full of people who found my accent, love of tea and overuse of the phrase 'my apologies' absolutely hysterical and therefore gave me a name, as was their custom, reflective of my stereotypical 'Englishness'." He said with a chuckle, glancing over at Ibrahim who was in a steady conversation with Harriet behind us, Emyl loitering closely behind, ensuring the safety of the latter. "They also call me 'crumpets' for the same reason." He added, shaking his head a little.

I smiled. "Original." I remarked. Curiosity got the better of me and I could not help but ask: "Does Ibrahim have one of these nicknames?"

A dark glint flashed in his eyes as he looked over at me. "I am surprised he hasn't told you – he is quite proud of the name he got."

I inclined my head. "He is?"

"Mhmm."

"What is it?"

" _Zmey_."

Before I could ask that to be developed any further, our destination came into sight: a detached, bricked house walled by greenery. When Ibrahim said he was going to hook us up with one of his contacts, the picture I had envisaged was of some abandoned council estate – a network of unclean passage and alleyways under a grey and cloudy skyline on the very edge of civilisation. What I had not expected was a comfortable, quite possibly family home standing in plain sight. I was momentarily overwrought over Harriet, Ibrahim and now Vincent's safety, but then appreciated the sheer brilliance of hiding in plain sight; particularly as the building itself held so many strategical advantages in the placement of the exit points as well as the natural element. I was willing to admit I was impressed and Vincent was more than willing to take the credit, much to chagrin of Ibrahim who pointed out that this was _his_ house.

It didn't surprise me that Ibrahim had a house in the south east of England. At this point, very little about Ibrahim surprised me. I just accepted what I saw and, like the good guardian I was ever trying to be, worked around it. If I'm honest, the most surprising aspects of Ibrahim were the normal ones.

"When did you learn to cook?" I asked, watching in sheer bewilderment as he complied together an omelette in the open-plan kitchen. For a house that I am imagined didn't get much use, it was surprisingly well kept and surprisingly modern too. With an island in the middle and no wall separating the dining area from the assembling one, there was something remarkably homely about the place. Vincent had arrived only a couple of days before us after Ibrahim made contact with him from Michael's Motel. He had set up his room near the back of the house, on the second floor. Since there were three Moroi to only two guardians, it had been decided that Harriet and I would be sharing one room and the boys would pile into the other. Harriet had immediately decided on settling in and so positioned herself at the dining table with _War and Peace_ for company whilst Emyl thought it best to do some bonding with his new charge for the evening, which involved him helping Vincent with his broken computer so we could view our intel and go from there. That left Ibrahim and I with little to do, but the former found occupation in making dinner for us all.

Ibrahim, putting the lid back on the milk, responded: "A friend of mine taught me when I was younger – she told me you can have all the power and intellect in the world, but if you do not have anything to eat then you won't last long."

I smiled. "Sounds like a wise woman." He turned his head over his shoulder to smile at me. Something within me fluttered: he was, no denying, a handsome man, but when he smiled – note _smiled_ not _smirked_ as he usually did – something about him changed and he became even more appealing. Perhaps it was just because it was such a rare occurrence to see him take anything without that underlying lilt of deviousness. Whatever it was, it was very disconcerting.

"Dear Lord! You are a genius, man." The unmistakable English accent carried through the pleasantly decorated halls as Vincent walked into the kitchen, holding a strange portable machine that vaguely resembled a computer with a smug-looking Emyl trailing behind. I raised an eyebrow at my friend who winked, but did nothing else to change his expression. "Abe, where did you find this fine gentleman?"

"In circumstances better not mentioned." Ibrahim replied, plonking the freshly-made omelette on the plate in front of me. My eyebrow was once again raised. Ibrahim inclined his head, encouraging me to eat it.

I relented. Picking up the fork and taking the smallest bit, it was then I discovered the depth of Ibrahim's culinary talents. "Your friend definitely knew what she was talking about." Ibrahim chuckled and the smirk returned, which was a reassurance to know not all had changed.

"You've even managed to get rid of all the cache! How have you done that?" Vincent was still overjoyed at Emyl's improvements on his computer and there was no doubt that Emyl was rather enjoying this appraisal.

"How come when I fixed your computer, Jenny, I didn't even get a word of thanks?" Emyl said, shooting me a look that danced with amusement.

I returned the look. "Well, given that you were the one who broke it in the first place, I think I am justified." I said and he stuck his tongue out, evidently forgetting for a moment that we were no longer in the storage cupboard at St Vlad's where we used to hide out and conspire without anyone looking in. When he did remember, he cleared his throat and replaced his mask, but the amusement and childish joy still resonated in his eyes. Harriet, upon seeing the rest of us gathered round the small kitchen island, departed with Tolstoy and came to stand by Emyl as Vincent produced a stack full of paper and a recently 'fixed' computer.

"You found all of that in four days?" I must admit, I shared Emyl's sentiment: I was definitely impressed.

It was now Vincent's turn to look smug as he tried to shrug it off. "I'm very resourceful."

I had a feeling I knew what he was talking about. So did Emyl, if his hardened gaze towards me was anything to go by. So did Ibrahim, if his interruption was anything to go by: "Perhaps we can skip to what you found..." he said, giving Vincent a stern look.

Vincent raised his eyebrows but said nothing on the matter. "Righto: _La Luz_." He ran his fingers through his hair. "I'll spare you the history lesson, but in short they're bad news. I managed to trace that telegraph Guardian What's-his-face sent me and locked onto their location before this thing clogged out." He said, gesturing to the computer.

"Croft." I couldn't help but saying.

Vincent looked up and frowned. "What?"

"The Guardian– never mind. Did you find them?" I could see Ibrahim smirking again in my peripheral, but elected to ignore him.

"Yes, whilst there was no name on any of the documents, unsurprising really, I did manage to track down an address. I flagged it up on our system and one of the lads down at the Port got back to me: he had been watching that house due to some suspicious activity. Whoever they've got doing their accounts down there is clearly new to the game and evidently quite expendable. Regardless, we have a name: Pablo Torres."

We all perked up. "Sounds Spanish." Ibrahim said with a smirk.

Vincent, holding his own smirk, lifted up the mug on the counter, bringing it to his lips. Upon finding it empty, he frowned at the contents (or lack thereof) and resumed. "It is." He placed the mug down and picked up a file and handed it to Ibrahim. "Pablo Torres: twenty-three, orphaned boy who was nicked a couple of times for pick-pocketing but disappeared at the ripe old age of nine only to reappear at fifteen in Madrid, rather long way away from the back-streets of Cádiz..." he said, giving Ibrahim a knowing look.

Ibrahim returned it. "Quite so. I was not aware orphanage funding covered trips to France, Italy, Portugal, Turkey and Russia..."

Vincent, having flicked on the kettle, turned back to Ibrahim. "That's because you weren't an orphan."

Ibrahim looked up through his eyelashes. "Nor were you, Mr Five Million Pound Mansion."

"To be fair, that is father's."

"Could I possibly bring this back to the point," Emyl interjected, to which I was most grateful.

"Of course." Vincent replied, popping a teabag into the mug and pouring in the boiling water. "Six months ago, this little chap bought a cabfare from Southampton airport into Portsmouth and has been there ever since, getting a job working at the harbour which is in no way coincidental or indeed original. Though he could have done a better job: I had an enlightening chat with his supervisor who, shall we say, is not best pleased with Mr Torres' work ethic." I saw Ibrahim roll his eyes.

"Do we know if he is still there?" Emyl asked, his arms at some point during the conversation had found themselves folded across his chest, something he was known to do when he was either irritated or really concentrating.

Vincent nodded. "My sources seem to think so."

"And do you trust them?" I asked.

Vincent looked at me with an amused smile. "Of course not. But they are usually right, so I willing to give them the benefit of the doubt."

Ibrahim finished scanning the documents and offered them to me. I took them and gave them to Emyl, who had been eyeing the file ever since Vincent had picked it up, but was too well trained to say anything. "So, are we planning on going to Portsmouth?" I asked.

"Yes, but I think we should stay here for the night and travel tomorrow." Vincent suggested.

"What if he leaves tonight?" Harriet, who had once again stayed silent, listening to the whole conversation to get as much information as possible, spoke up for the first time.

"It is unlikely, but if he does we'll know about it." Vincent said before turning to Ibrahim. " _Le renard_ caught whiff of our little conversation and has wormed his way in."

Ibrahim rolled his eyes and sighed irritably, "God help us."

Vincent chuckled a little before spotting the omelette in front of me. "Is that Olena's infamous omelette? Oh, yes! Did you make one for me?" he said, his eyes lit up like a kid's at Christmas. Upon discovering that there was only one plate, his countenance fell into a mirror of the devious look I had often seen on Ibrahim as he looked between the omelette, me and Ibrahim. "Made just the one, did you?"

I frowned as Ibrahim scowled. "Well, I was rather interrupted by an eccentric Brit, over-excited about his functioning computer."

"Oh, sure." Vincent winked, though whether it was to me or Ibrahim was unclear. He picked up his mug and hid his smile in his tea.

I decided to ignore whatever was going on between these two and, much like Emyl, bring the focus back on the issue at hand. "What's the plan when, _if,_ we find Torres?"

Vincent was still grinning into his tea so Ibrahim decided to take the reins. "Hopefully, we can persuade Mr Torres to divulge the location, or indeed locations, of the gang's main supply basses so we can cut them off."

"What do you mean by 'persuade'?" I asked, glaring at the Moroi before me. Ibrahim's expression darkened but he said nothing.

Thankfully, Emyl spoke up in that moment. "Are we sure this boy with know that information? From his file, he doesn't seem to be that high in the gang's hierarchy. He probably wouldn't have been told such sensitive information."

I blinked somewhat surprised at how fast Emyl was picking up the strikingly different way of life we had managed to find ourselves in.

Vincent, finally managing to compose himself, took the reins back from Ibrahim. "No, probably not. But we know that he is, for want of a better phrase, a street rat: he knows how to get information without being told. Slyness is often a great virtue and one which, we hope, Pablo has been gifted." Emyl nodded, closing the file and putting back on the island.

"How early are we planning on leaving tomorrow?" Emyl asked, his arms resuming their folded position.

"Quite." Ibrahim said. "It is probably best to catch him either on his way to work or before it."

Vincent hummed his agreement. "Yes, the lad that informed me of the movements of Pablo Torres says he leaves the house like clockwork every morning at nine. Whether to go to work or not is a little transparent, however."

I couldn't help the smirk that formed on my lips. I could see Ibrahim took suppressing his amusement. "Well," Harriet said, "early start, early night – that's what my mum used to say." She said with a slight giggle before remembering where her mother was. The sadness crossed her features for a moment before she shook them off, smiled and left the room. I followed after her, leaving the boys in the kitchen to do as they pleased.

I found Harriet in our room, she had already set out the beds and climbed into hers, settling down once again with _War and Peace_ which I assumed she had picked up from the bookshelf downstairs. I knocked gently at the door to let her know I was there. She glanced up and smiled. "Hey."

"Hey," I said, flopping down on my own bed but not getting in the covers. "You okay?"

"As I could be, I suppose." She shrugged. "Vincent seems nice."

I considered. "Yeah, though I think there is just a bit too much Ibrahim in him for my liking."

Harriet chuckled, placing the hefty book on the bedside cabinet. "You know, I think you secretly like him."

I cocked a brow. "Apparently, so secretly that not even I know."

She shook her head. "No, you know it."

"You know, I now agree with Emyl: it was a bad idea letting you read all those romantic novels."

She burst out laughing. "No, you need a good love story – to balance out all the bad." The pang of sadness returned to her eyes.

The sight nearly made my heart break: I could not bear to see her hurting. "Fine, I'll indulge you: I am in love with Ibrahim Mazur. Happy now?"

She cast her watering eyes towards me and laughed gleefully yet silently. "Very."

I shook my head and rose of my bed. "I need to pee, but I'll be right back. Don't miss me too much."

She smiled. "Thank you, Janine."

I smiled. "Anytime, Harriet."

I stepped out of the room and walked down the corridor only to run into Vincent coming the other way. "Oh, I am so sorry."

"Not a problem." He said, waving my apology off. "Are you okay?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, just going to the toilet."

"Ah," he said, stepping out of my way. "Say no more." I rolled my eyes and laughed. "Janine – it is okay to call you Janine, right?"

I nodded. "Yeah."

"How long have you and Abe been friends?"

I frowned at the slightly unexpected question. "Couple of months, why?"

Vincent raised his eyebrows and ran his fingers through his hair, "No reason. I don't really hear from him very often and it's nice to keep track. He's not actually one to open up, if you understand." I didn't, not really at least, but I said I did. "Well, thank you, _Janine._ See you in the morning. Good night." And with that he walked, down the corridor and into the larger room where he, Ibrahim and Emyl were sharing.

I frowned after him. Not freaked out, but definitely confused by this new addition into my life. Vincent Alexander Cronan the Third was certainly a puzzling character – though thankfully not as much as Ibrahim. Sighing, I shook my head and went into the bathroom, putting all thoughts of enigmatic men to one side for the rest of the evening.

* * *

Dawn broke and I found myself curled around the comforts of a soft duvet. The light from the south-facing window seeped in between the borders of the blinds to rest on my weary eyes. I groaned. I was not unaccustomed to waking at the crack of dawn; nay, it had become something of a habit for me. But neither was I accustomed to this level of comfort in a bed. Having spent the last few nights of my life either on a plane, in a cheap (sorry Michael) motel or just on the ground, this bed was a welcomed comfort. Nonetheless, I forced my limbs upward and stretched out – effectively waking everything up so I wouldn't be tempted by sleep again. I staggered to my feet when I heard a whimpering from Harriet's bed. I quickly found my balance to rush over to her, shaking her awake.

"Mother!" she screamed as her eyes opened with alarming violence.

"Harriet! Harriet, it was just a dream." I soothed, breaking my usual inhibitions surrounding personal space and enveloping her in my arms.

"Oh, Janine," she murmured, silently sobbing into my shoulder. She held me tighter. "I am so sorry."

"You have nothing to apologise for," I reassured, the authority in my tone unquestionable. She merely nodded and continued to hug me. After a few moments, I felt her grip release and I let her go. She sat back and calmed herself, nodding when she was ready to leave the room.

We made our way down to find Emyl already up and about – pacing restlessly until he caught sight of Harriet. There was a moment of relief followed by extreme alarm when he took in her downcast expression, watered eyes and reddened nose. I gently shook my head and he nodded, knowing not to ask any questions but just to be her friend. The others seemed remarkably calm. Vincent was sitting by the table with a newspaper and a tea whilst Ibrahim leaned against the island with a coffee in his hand. He had changed out of his worn and slightly tattered shirt and suit bottoms into an entirely new one, black and complete with a rather eccentric red scarf and matching handkerchief. Upon seeing me, he smiled and the fluttering feeling from yesterday resurfaced. I ignored it and smiled back before asking what was happening.

"We're getting the train that leaves in half an hour. I already went out and got the tickets and the train station is five minutes away so there is time for coffee." Emyl answered, practically reading my mind.

"Hallelujah." And with that I set about making my coffee.

Once fully caffeinated, the five of us left. I texted Guardian Croft, giving him the update he had requested, using one of the burner phones Vincent had given me. The expenses went through whatever the organisation he and Ibrahim were apart of's accounts, encrypted of course, which was nice but not enough to redeem it.

We once again found ourselves on a commuter train, so I therefore had the hindsight to not say a word. In all honesty, I was quite glad for the silence; the sound of only the train groaning on, seemingly content in its repetitive cycle – safe in the knowledge that this is what it will be doing all day, every day, for as long as it is able. The outer world whizzes past in a strange blur: ever approaching but lasting for only a second. I lean my head against the plastic window – thankful that the five of us had seats as I wouldn't have wanted to stand in this stuffy carriage for an hour and a half.

At least I know what the people standing up were glaring at me for this time.

The ride was principally uneventful. Harriet was enjoying herself, watching the world pass her by at considerable speed and tapping on Emyl's arm as she had in the plane coming to Court for the first time, however this time Emyl seemed much more at ease given that he wasn't on a plane. Vincent seemed quite contented sitting next to Emyl, dozing off on him at one point, and just watching the world around him in silence; his eyes wandering around, resting on certain people whereupon they narrowed before moving on again. He particularly found it entertaining to study the man sitting opposite him and next to me, Ibrahim, who found it equally amusing to glare him away. In all, a rather mundane start to the day.

That was until we got to Portsmouth Harbour station...

"Ibrahim, is that...?"

"Yes, it is."

I was shocked at how quickly the next few seconds panned out. Pablo Torres was standing quite casually, if a little tensely, on the platform where our train stopped when I spotted him. And then he spotted us. His dark eyes widened at the oncoming threat and he made a break for it. But Emyl was faster. Pinning him to the ground in seconds, Pablo's flight didn't get very far. I flanked behind the Moroi as the five second spectacle had caused quite a scene, with many a human casting us strange and unnerved looks.

Thankfully, that is where Ibrahim stepped in. "Fear not, police business: carry on with your day." The coolness in which the speech was delivered was, in itself, enough to convince me that the five of us were coppers, even if we were not in any sort of uniform. But just in case it wasn't enough, Ibrahim produced a badge and wallet from his suit pocket. Vincent then pulled a pair of handcuffs out of his pocket and I seriously began considering that this was staged.

" _Buenos días, hermano._ _Como estas?_ " Vincent whispered into the young man's ear. Pablo scrunched up his face and squirmed, managing to turn his head enough to spit of Vincent's shoes. "Charming."

In spite of his protests, Pablo was made to walk. Vincent, taking the initiative, handed Pablo over to Emyl which rendered any hope in Pablo's mind of escaping void. With not much choice in the matter, particularly now the working day was about to start, Vincent quickly lead us off the main roads and towards a more deserted area of town. Pulling out his phone, he punched in a number and brought it to his ear.

"Jamie, hello, are you home?...No?...No worries. Do you mind terribly if I use your living room?...Wonderful! Key still under the doormat?...Excellent. Many thanks, my dear friend. Catch up soon." And with that he hung up.

Five minutes later, we were at another house.

Unlocking the door, with the key which was indeed located under the doormat, we piled into the home; Vincent closed the door behind us, closed the curtains and plonked one of the wooden chairs around the kitchen table in the middle of the carpeted floor. "Put him there." He said to Emyl who obliged without complaint. Ibrahim had disappeared only to reappear with a wire chord which he presently wrapped around Pablo, securing him to the chair. I watched the whole scene with considerable alarm, an expression that did not go unnoticed by Ibrahim who was continuously looking over at me, watching my reaction. I felt Harriet tense behind me, and decided it would probably be best to take her out of the room. I made to leave with her, but Emyl stopped me.

"Let me." He said and I nodded reluctantly. I remained placed by the door, parallel to Pablo with Ibrahim to my left, standing in front of the poor man. He shot me one last indecipherable look, before turning to the man wrapped tied to the chair in front of him.

"Mr Torres, my name is Abe Mazur – I'd just like to ask you a few questions." His voice was different. The pleasantry and charm was still there was there was a deep-rooted eeriness about it that made me shiver.

Pablo too looked uneasy, though I suppose you would being tied to a chair. His eyes darted all over the room, avoiding the piercing and fiery gazes of both Vincent and Ibrahim. _"_ _No hablo inglés_ _."_

Without missing a beat, Vincent began tutting in the corner he had assumed to Ibrahim's left. "Now, now, there is no need to lie."

Pablo glared over at Vincent, but refused to say anything. Ibrahim signature smirk returned a little and he stepped towards the Spaniard. "Oh, don't mind Charles – he is just in a bit of a bad mood." Pablo still remained silent and now not looking at either Ibrahim or Vincent. "We just a little information and then we can all go home. Personally, I quite fancy drink. Bourbon, though really any type whiskey would suffice. Do you like whiskey?" For the first time, Pablo met Ibrahim's gaze, just for a second. As though he was testing the waters. "Not a fan of whiskey?" He still remained silent. "No, you seem more like a cocktail guy." Still silent."You know, this conversation thing is not really going to work if you don't speak."

"Why you not let me go then?" Pablo snapped meeting Ibrahim's gaze.

"Ah, you can speak. I was getting worried for a minute." Ibrahim said with a devious glint.

Pablo looked away. "I am not telling you anything."

Ibrahim waved him off. "You don't have to if you don't want to, though it would make it a little easier. All we want to know is the location of the supply bases. Then we'll be right on our way."

A fresh glint sparkled in Pablo's eyes and a re-fixed them on Ibrahim's. "They do not tell me these things."

Ibrahim inclined his head. "But you know..."

"I do not."

Ibrahim smiled. "We shall see." Turning to Vincent and inhaled and asked softly, "Shall we start nicely?" Vincent opened his hands in a gesture for him to proceed. Ibrahim nodded his thanks and turned back to Pablo. "Britain." Pablo frowned and looked between Vincent and Ibrahim (I think he had forgotten I was even there).

"No." Vincent's voice interrupted the silence.

"Russia." Ibrahim said and this time even I frowned.

"No." Vincent again responded.

Ibrahim looked momentarily surprised at that but continued anyway. "Spain."

Pablo hardened and looked over and Vincent. I too watched him carefully. His eyes were narrowed as they were on the train. After a moment, he spoke again. "No."

More surprise flashed on Ibrahim's face, but he quickly suppressed it and concentrated. "Mexico."

Again, Vincent's eyes narrowed, but this time a smirk came on his face. "Yes."

Pablo's head snapped up and Ibrahim's own smirk returned. "Ah, now we're getting somewhere." I was dazzled. What on Earth was going on? "France."

"No."

Ibrahim shrugged. "Well, _renard_ can rest easy." Vincent chuckled as Ibrahim continued. "China."

"No."

"USA."

"No."

"Germany?"

"No."

"Italy?"

"No."

"Turkey?"

A pause. "Yes."

Ibrahim blinked. "Interesting." He stretched out his arms and walked back to lean against the front-facing windowsill. Pablo could not have looked any more alarmed. Whatever Vincent was doing, he was doing well, as the man shifted in his chair in a very agitated manner.

"What is he doing?" he asked, his voice trembling.

Ibrahim stopped stretching and looked at Pablo with a smile. "He is speaking. Perhaps, you would like a go?" For a moment Pablo spluttered, so dazed by what the hell was going on he had no words to say. "No? Alright. Egypt."

"No."

"Shame, I hear it is lovely this time of year. Japan."

"No."

Ibrahim sighed, his face contorted into a frown and his eyes rolling to the right before settling down again on Pablo. "Canada."

"Yes."

Ibrahim smirked, as though Vincent's response confirmed a theory. Pablo, on the other hand, looked absolutely terrified. Ibrahim's eyes caught my own and softened a little. "Do you have enough, Charles?" Ibrahim asked, not removing his firm hold.

"More than enough."

He smiled. "Wonderful." He pulled his gaze away and looked back at Pablo. Inclining his head a little, he offered Pablo a pitied smile which seemed to put the man in an even further degree of agitation.

"What has he enough for?" The squirming man asked, his eyes darting around the room panicked. They met me, I think perhaps for the first time, and a new wave of terror flooded into him. Vincent pushed himself from the corner and walked slowly towards Pablo. That got his attention. With each step, he became more and more squeamish until Vincent was directly in front of him. Slowly, Vincent crouched down in front of him, making his head level with Pablo's. He brought the man's eyes to meet his and spoke in the softest tone:

"This may hurt."

Without given Pablo any time to prepare, Vincent put his palms either side of Pablo's head and held them there. I was anticipating a scream. I was anticipating pain and terror and a whole manner of perverse and horrible things. Apparently, so was Pablo. He was crying as soon as Vincent's skin made contact with his own, expecting all of the above...

But it never came.

The surprise on Pablo's face shone through his tears. Vincent just crouched there: his hands on Pablo's temples and his eyes closed, as if in a meditation. He remained there for a while, Pablo in too much shock to do anything but sit still. But after that while, Vincent reopened his eyes, smiled and got up.

Ibrahim looked at his friend expectantly. "Success?"

Vincent's smile widened. "Vancouver, Monterrey and Istanbul." Ibrahim smirked and Pablo's face dropped cataclysmically – the despair across his features clear for the whole world to see.

Me? I just had one question: what the hell just happened?

* * *

 **Hello my dear comrades in Comrade :D**

 **Hey, how are you all doing? I know it's been a very long time but I have had literally no time to write, it has been so sad :( But I managed to do a lot in the past few days, including an extra long chapter so hopefully it will compensate :3 Please let me know what you think – like it? Love it? Hate it? I actually had so much fun doing the last bit of this. I love it when you are writing about something and the protagonist has absolutely no idea what's going on – I feel it creates more of a rapport, but that is just my opinion.**

 **Also, just quickly, I need to mention, and recommend, Dubrovnik. I went on holiday there and it is simply spectacular. If any of you do get a chance to go, you will enjoy it so much – there is so much to do and see and so much cool history :D I was loving every minute of that :P**

 **I hope, if you've been on holiday too, it was amazing as well. If not, I hope I find you well and wish you every blessing. I'll try and update a little quicker, but I can't make any promises unfortunately.**

 **Here's wishing you all the best,  
Mariarty :D**


	12. Chapter 12

**Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Academy or anything surrounding it (but I do own this plot :D)**

* * *

JPOV

I walked, vaguely remembering how to do so _._ Harriet poked her head up from where she had buried it in her palms. Emyl turned from where he was consoling her towards my entrance to the small kitchen where they both sat.

"What happened?"

I looked up at Emyl, not sure if he was the one who had asked the question or if it was indeed me. I opened my mouth to answer regardless, but found that I was incapable of saying anything bar: "I don't know."

I saw both Emyl and Harriet frown, the former making to open his mouth again to further his initial inquiry, but found himself halted by the arrival of Ibrahim and Vincent.

"Dear Lord, I need a beverage." Vincent declared, striding into the kitchen, acknowledging the three bewildered people in front of him before locking on to the kettle.

Ibrahim walked in, resuming his aura of casualness. The eerie edge seemed to have dissipated to leave no trace that it was ever there. He chuckled at his friend, but the concern was still there. "You alright, Vince?" He asked, for the first time using Vincent's actual name; well, at least to an extent.

Vincent waved him off. "Marvellous – one may daresay spiffing, but one knows better than to encourage you."

"Does someone want to explain what is going on?" Emyl interjected, his voice not raised but there was an undeniable authority and bellow in tone. "Where's Pablo?"

"He still in the living room," Ibrahim answered.

"Recovering..." Vincent added which earned him a glare.

"Is he...unconscious?" Harriet tentatively enquired, her lively blue eyes nervously darted between each individual in the room.

Ibrahim's expression softened considerably. "No, he is perfectly well, my dear girl. He is just a little shaken up, but that is completely normal."

Emyl looked between the two Moroi. His mask was both there and not with the sporadic flecks of confusion and irritation that flashed across his features. I was still trying to comprehend what I had just witnessed, but would have probably been in a similar state to Guardian Burlatsky. "What did you do?" he asked, Ibrahim rather than Vincent who seemed to be concentrating quite hard on pouring the boiling water into a mug.

Ibrahim's eyes ventured towards Vincent's actions, watching him carefully as though he would collapse at any moment, but answered no differently than he would normally. "We found the cities in which _La Luz_ have stationed their main supply bases: Vancouver, Monterrey and Istanbul." Emyl's eyes widened at the news. "I recommend calling our dear friend Croft and informing him of this development as I am sure he will be most pleased with this outcome."

"You know, I'm rather surprised that there was only three." Vincent commented, though I suspect he was just thinking aloud.

Ibrahim shrugged regardless. "It is not so unlikely. Remember, Magnus Dubois only had two and he still managed to bring down a well fortified political structure."

Vincent hummed his agreement. "True – though he did have inside help."

Ibrahim paused for a moment before continuing. "I think perhaps _La Luz_ have underwent a form of centralisation. Given that their target was the Royal Court, it is not surprising that they have two so close to their object."

"They're smart." Emyl said, chipping in. "Putting them in Mexico and Canada offers two frontiers without alerting too much attention, particularly given the Court's influence over most of the USA."

"Though why Istanbul?" Vincent pondered. "What's the connection there?"

"Location." Ibrahim stated with a shrug. "Turkey offers a central location wherein they all pull resources from Europe, Asia and Africa for distribution. Spain would have worked equally as well, but it would seem a little obvious. Better to put your supply base abroad in a place where you have little if not no connection, that way no-one would suspect it."

There was a pause in the conversation before Vincent spoke up again. "Well, props to you Abe on managing to guess all three."

Ibrahim chuckled. "I believe you owe me a hundred and fifty quid."

"Oh, man! Was it really fifty a pot?" Vincent groaned.

Ibrahim chuckled again before his eyes found mine. Whilst this conversation was occurring, I remained standing by the door, with my arms folded in a very Emyl-like manner. My brain was reprocessing every little detail of what had occurred not ten minutes before, analysing every single possible explanation for how on Earth Ibrahim and Vincent managed to, for all intents and purposes, _guess_ exactly where the three supply bases for the criminal organisation that we were currently seek to disassemble were located. I had nothing. I knew Moroi possessed some compelling abilities, but certainly not enough to read minds – which was the only plausible description that I could come up with for what I had just witnessed – and it didn't work on vampires, be they Moroi, Dhampir or Strigoi, so that was irrelevant anyway.

With all this internal chaos, I really wasn't paying attention to what I was doing externally. Heaven only knows what manner of expression was fixed on my countenance when Ibrahim glanced over at me. I could only guess it was something distantly related to complete confusion. Whatever it was, it was clearly wild enough to provoke Ibrahim to inquire if I was okay.

"I'm fine, just...how did you do that?" Strip off the Band-Aid, may as well cut to the chase.

Ibrahim opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by Vincent. "I think I'll take this one, Abe." He said, placing down his finished tea and looking over at me with a slight smirk. He ran his fingers through his hair, trailing them from the back of his head along his jawbone to scratch the right side of his face. "You remember yesterday when I told you I didn't technically specialise..."

"Yes." I said remembering back to my first conversation with Vincent-not-Charles when suddenly it clicked. " _Some of your own_..." I echoed the words of but a day ago.

Vincent smile increased. "Yup."

"What are you talking about?" Emyl asked, looking critically between the two of us.

But I ignored him, invested as I was in my own investigation. "You're not specialising allows you to read minds?"

"You can read minds!?" Harriet's voice was raised a pitch or two higher than normal when that sentence came out.

Vincent laughed a little. "Not quite."

"But you knew...?" I drifted off, not knowing quite how to end that sentence because I really didn't know what he knew.

But Vincent took this as an opportunity to explain. "I can't read minds, though that would be very interesting." He said, glancing over at Ibrahim who did not look too pleased. Vincent chuckled before carrying on, unaffected. "I can read emotions. Sort of. It's hard to explain, but there is a certain...glow around people."

"A glow?" The disbelief in Emyl's voice was clear.

"Yes, it's rather tricky to define – the closest thing I can relate it to is...well...it's like a visual representation of an aura." He finally managed, running his fingers through his hair. "Unique to every person, it is as though a colourful halo surrounds them. Each colour represents a mood, feeling or emotion."

"And you can see these... _auras_?" I echoed, making sure I was following.

He nodded. "Yes. Not only that, but I can interpret them – isolate a particular colour, for instance, and determine the emotion linked to it."

"And that's what you were doing with Pablo." He nodded again. "So when Ibrahim said the name of a country..."

"...I watched the reaction." He affirmed. "From that, I am able to determine whether or not it is of significance and dismiss or affirm it respectively."

I was amazed. "But how did you get the cities? Surely you couldn't just guess and hope for the best."

He laughed. "Yes, that would take quite a while. No, because each aura is unique to the individual, I have to have a few examples. Likes, dislikes, fears – that sort of stuff."

"Which is why Ibrahim was talking about whiskey." I said looking over at the Moroi in question. He bore and comparatively neutral expression, but the subtle upturn of his lip gave him a much less serious and intimidating and therefore a kinder demeanour. I was so distracted that I nearly missed when Vincent spoke again.

"Yes, I don't keep him around for nothing, you know." He said, sending a wink in Ibrahim's direction. Said Ibrahim cocked his brow as the smirk took over his soft smile. "Anyway, once I have a grasp on their particular system of colouration, I can lock on to a single emotion or feeling, in this case the one relating to supply bases, and compel it to activate memories or stored knowledge, which used that emotion, ergo finding the cities."

"That is incredible." Harriet breathed and I have to admit, I agreed.

"And you can just do this at any time..." Emyl said, a nervous lilt shrouded his words.

Vincent smiled. "Alas, not. Vampires, whilst not particularly being natural creatures themselves, are not supposed to read emotions, let alone minds. It takes quite a lot of effort and is rather destabilising, so I don't do it very often. Seeing the auras is not too bad, but the other part, well..." he drifted off and turned around to make more tea.

It suddenly became very clear why their organisation found Vincent so invaluable.

And it was then that I began to question. Question what I knew, or at least thought I did. An unspecialised Moroi: unheard of, yet not entirely impossible. Vincent and all his gifts would have been rejected in the world I knew, yet they appear embraced in this one; the one that I had labelled as wrong, as immoral, as savage. Did that then mean that liberty and savagery were intrinsically linked? Perhaps a step too far, but I had already crossed the line to the point where it was no longer visible – relative extent seemed completely nullified. Right and wrong: I had always seen them as binaries. Black and white. As far away from each other as the east from the west. Though the distinction now appeared distinctly grey – a fact I was most certainly not enjoying.

Pablo was, understandably, a little distressed. Hysteric may be the more apt term for his condition, given that he had – though not quite literally – given away the location of the secret supply bases that fuelled _La Luz_ and whatever it was that their _Abuela_ was up to. Regardless, there was no denying that he was a dead man. There was no speculating what would happen to him if he was just set free, even if he did manage to convince them that a Moroi with special abilities read his aura and used it to read his mind which in itself was unlikely.

"Jenny..." I jumped, turning to face Emyl stern expression and warning tone of voice. We were still in Vincent's friend's house, midday passed and lunch consumed. Vincent had managed to find a computer and, with Emyl's technical prowess up for another exhibit, managed to get it working enough to send a message to Guardian Croft about the supply bases.

"What?" I asked as innocently as I could.

Emyl scowled. "You know what. I know that face."

I sighed. "I just don't think we should let him go."

"Pablo? You are aware he is part of the criminal organisation that tried to kill us? That have Harriet's mother hostage?"

"But they'll kill _him_."

"I'm failing to see how that is our problem." I scowled. He sighed. "You don't know that for sure."

I scoffed. "Oh, don't I?"

He inhaled slowly. "Alright, fine: they probably will. But who cares? He definitely deserves it."

I blinked, somewhat faltering at the callousness of Emyl's speech. "How can you say that? He was an orphaned boy manipulated into a weapon – not even that, a fall-guy: set up to take the blame."

"He was still part of it, and I have no qualms about shooting a messenger."

I glared at him in disbelief and he returned it. Who's to say how long we'd both be standing there, not even trying to find a middle ground, if the knock on the door hadn't interrupted us. Regaining our former harmony, we both snapped our heads round to the door: guardian training kicking in. The figure was distorted by the translucent glass, but it was clear he was male. Moroi most likely, though could be a dhampir. Given the time of day it was highly unlikely he was a Strigoi but I still entertained the possibility. He knocked again, the form moving to reveal an empty void behind him: he was alone. I glanced back at Emyl and he nodded. Moving forward, I ducked into the stairwell whilst Emyl sheathed his stake and made to answer the door.

Easing it open slowly he glanced out. "Can I help you?"

"Maybe, but I am actually here to help you." He had an accent, one Emyl and I and all the guardians at Court knew all too well from a certain Guardian Demort.

" _Renard_ – is that you?" Ibrahim's voice carried through the hall. Emyl tightened his jaw, but opened the door fully. I got a full look at the man. Moroi, without question now: tall, lanky yet with a well kept stubble and dressed in a suit, the price of which I felt I did not want to know. He had quick grey eyes embedded deep into their sockets; they darted around the room as though he was making a mental log of every single atom in his environment. He caught sight of me pressed against the front-facing wall and then my stake. He smiled: his face holding an almost rat-like quality that made me very cautious.

He pushed passed Emyl and went to embrace Ibrahim. " _Zmey_. It has been a long time. Moscow was it not?"

Ibrahim returned the embrace, but did not look happy about it. "Perhaps not long enough."

He pulled back and laughed. "Ah, you were always so funny. Is Charlie-boy around?"

The deviousness resurfaced in Ibrahim's gaze. "Yes, he's in the kitchen." The Frenchman clapped his hand on Ibrahim's shoulder before wandering in the direction of the kitchen.

Emyl shut the door and turned around to stride back into the kitchen. "Next time you invite some of your friends, tell us." He snapped at Ibrahim, brushing past him.

I released some of the tension in my muscles and made to put my stake away. "You know, I really wouldn't have minded if you'd killed him." I glanced up to see Ibrahim smiling towards me.

I wasn't going to dignify that with a response. "Who is he?" I inquired walking closer to him in the hallway.

"Not a friend to be sure." Ibrahim muttered, glancing to where the Frenchman and Emyl had wandered away. "Jean-Paul Boursain: by far the most insufferable of my colleagues."

"In what way?"

Ibrahim quirked an eyebrow. "We call him _renard..._ " I shrugged, indicating my ignorance on the matter. He smiled. "It means 'fox'. That should give you some indication of his character, though I do not believe it does him justice. He would be better suited to 'Janus'."

"The god with two faces?" I asked, holding back my smile.

Ibrahim now raised both eyebrows. "You never cease to amaze me, Guardian Hathaway." He bore a look rare to his countenance: an odd mix of amusement, bewilderment and something I could not place. And he was smiling again.

I sighed softly, leaning back against the wall of the staircase with my eyes fixed on the riddle that stood before me. "Ditto, Mr Mazur."

There was a moment of silence, a moment of hesitation: Ibrahim standing, pondering whether the voice the question that danced so clearly in his eyes. "Dare I ask if this has proved somewhat redeeming?"

His wariness was unmistakeable and I knew exactly what he was talking about. I sighed. "You never hurt the people you are interrogating?"

He shook his head. "What would be the point – inflict enough pain on a person and they will say anything to make it stop. The reliability of the information would be too minute for consideration."

"But you do threaten to hurt them?"

"All bark, rarely bite." He smiled. "Just don't tell them that."

I laughed. "Yeah, I think that may destroy your formidable reputation."

He cocked a brow. " _Formidable reputation_?"

I send him a challenging look. "Dude, you were on Croft's radar for 'influential' characters."

"Touché." He conceded with a chuckle before a slight frown crossed his features and he shot me a funny look. "Did you just call me 'dude'?"

I blinked, realising that my mission to hate the man in front of me and therefore act as passive aggressive as possible was most definitely failing. This was not the first time that my guard had slipped in conversation with Ibrahim Mazur, but it was certainly the most obvious, Composing myself, I glanced towards the entertain Moroi. "I'll keep your secrets if you keep mine."

Ibrahim smiled: fully. His lips parting and his teeth shining out, as they were on our first meeting in his first attempt to charm, but there was a distinct difference – this was genuine.

"Alright, _mon cheri_. _Allons-y._ " Pablo Torres was pushed through the gap between myself and Ibrahim, closely followed by Jean-Paul. " _Au revior, mes amis._ It was good to see you again, Abe – we shall have to do it again," he said with a wink,

I frowned as they made their way to the door and then out of it. "What...?"

"Thank God." Ibrahim muttered, turning away from the door,

"Ibrahim Mazur!" A British accent roared through the corridor. I jumped, taken aback by the anger in Vincent's normally cool tone. I shot Ibrahim a wary look, but he just looked on the verge of laughter. Vincent appeared at the end of the hallway and locked onto Ibrahim immediately, who had resumed his lean against the wall and looked over at the fuming Brit. "I am going to murder you in your sleep!"

"Remarkably kind way to go." Ibrahim shrugged.

Vincent scowled. "Some friend you are: leaving me with _Monsieur le renard_. Urgh." He shook himself out. "Blimey, that man gives me the shivers. Every time I see him, I don't know if he is friend or foe."

Ibrahim scoffed. "I do not believe it is that simple with _renard._ "

Vincent hummed his agreement. "Yes, you're right about that. I am totally going to make you pay for that one, Abe – I hope you know that."

Ibrahim smiled. "I wouldn't expect anything less, Charles."

"Sorry to interrupt," I wasn't really all that apologetic, but it served its purpose in getting their attention, "but why is Pablo being taken by your...not-friend?"

Ibrahim cocked a brow. "You'd leave him to the mercy of his 'employers'?" he said with no little disbelief. I blinked. "Besides, we needed to give _renard_ something to do to stop him tagging along."

I was about to comment when Emyl walked into the hallway, phone in hand.

"Guardian Croft wishes to speak to us."

* * *

"Vincent?" I frowned upon seeing the tall, Brit striding towards a different platform. He glanced back towards me. "Where are you going?"

He smiled softly."Unfortunately not with you, though it all sounds terribly exciting." That was certainly one word for it. After toying with the newly acquired information for a while, Croft had called us back with a plan of action. It appeared the situation back in the US had gotten progressively worse. The hostages were alive, at least, but _Abuela_ (well, one of her agents as she was electing to remain in the shadows) had threatened the continuation of their existence unless allegiance was sworn to her. In effect, what we were dealing with was a _coup d'état_ and this megalomaniac of an old lady wanted it with the full flourish. Obviously, that wasn't going to happen as the majority of the vampiric world were, while not completely, quite content with the old regime and this new usurpation was just not acceptable. It had served in unifying the Guardians and Moroi alike, squashing any previous concerns into the mud.

And so, she had to go. And Croft had come up with a plan for how to do that.

If I'm honest, I don't think I was completely comfortable with the whole thing. Croft, along with other remaining senior members of the Guardian community had unanimously decided that we were going to cut off their supply chains – sever their connections and stop them gaining any additional re-enforcements so that when we struck, it would be permanent. That obviously meant locating the supply bases within the locations and since we were already halfway to one of them...well, you get the picture:

We were going to Istanbul...

Well, apparently not all of us.

"It is really rather embarrassing." Vincent said, running his fingers through his hair. I looked at him expectantly. "My mother called..."

A wave of empathy fell upon me. "Ah."

He smiled. "Yes... She is apparently coming for a visit and since she believes I work for the financial services, she thinks she can drop on by whenever she wants."

"Ouch."

"Mhmm, so now I get to spend the weekend entertaining the family, including cousin Rupert who I needn't dwell on." He said gritting his teeth a little.

" _Le renard_?" I said.

He laughed. "No, he isn't _that_ bad. Rupert is, well, a little conservative, shall we say: somewhat of a lost ruminant of the Victorian era in his political persuasion."

"Oh." I said with a frown.

"Indeed. Well, I must bid you farewell, Janine." Vincent said with a sweeping bow.

I laughed a little. "It was a pleasure, _Charles._ "

He grinned, the devious glint resuming their normal position. "That it was indeed." He stepped forward and took my hand in his. "I know we have not been acquainted for long, but might you grant me a favour?"

I frowned. "Sure..."

"Look after him." He said nodding behind me. I glanced round to see the direction he was indicating: Ibrahim.

"Vincent, I don't thi-"

"No, hush now. I ask as your friend: that man is my brother. Perhaps not by blood, but certainly by heart. He has helped me more times than I care to admit, even to myself. Yet, he will not hear a word of thanks nor allow himself the simple pleasure of true and honest friendship." He sighed a little, taking a step back and releasing my hand. "He does not relinquish his guard for anyone and I don't wish to see him hurt: as an Englishman it is very unsettling." He chuckled.

I rolled my eyes. "You're concern is touching."

He laughed again. "I mean well. Alas, I really must go." He cast a wayward glance towards the adjacent platform before running his hand in his hair once again. "I hope we meet again, Janine. But perhaps on happier terms."

"Me too, Vincent," I said with a smile. He bowed out again and trekked over to the adjoining platform. Minutes later, a train pulled up: its worn wheels screeching to a halt. The doors opened and Vincent stepped in, giving a solute back towards me. I saluted him back and he grinned. It was only when I turned around did I realise his action was directed at Ibrahim.

"I fear he may have made an impression on you, Guardian Hathaway," Ibrahim said with laughter lacing his words.

I scowled. "Can't be any worse than the one you made."

He smiled. "Glad to be of service."

I shook my head and located my friends. Unsurprisingly, I found them together and in conversation. Harriet's blue eyes had regained some of their previous brilliance – the events of the past not long ago had tempered her previously joyous personality. Yet, I think it would've taken the darkest corners of hell to weed-out the light that shone within her. And Emyl always knew how to make her smile.

I approached the pair. Emyl looked up from Harriet to meet my eyes, a certain caution within his own. "We good?" I asked.

His lips turned slightly upward. "We're good."

Harriet looked between us, alarmed. "You two didn't have a fight, did you?"

Emyl was quick to reassure her. "A mere disagreement. The past couple of days have been trying for us all; we were bound to get a little cranky."

She still looked wary. "We can't turn against each other – we are all we've got."

"And we won't: allies for life, right?" I said.

Emyl grinned. "Allies for life."

And it was just as the train that Vincent had bordered slugged away from the now empty platform that the speakers came alive with announcement:

 _The train now approaching Platform 3 is the 18:46 Themeslink service to Bedford. Calling at Three Bridges, Gatwick Airport, East Croydon..._

And so it began.

* * *

 **Hello my dear comrades in Comrade**

 **Good gracious it has been a while! I do so sincerely apologise, but unfortunately writing has not been my main priority. I will endeavour to keep doing it as it is something I very much enjoy and want to continue, but to put my present situation in a little perspective: I have three** _ **big**_ **pieces of work due before Christmas. History coursework, English coursework, EPQ – shoot me now! I am slightly relieved, however, that my UCAS is done. Perks of the Oxbridge xD**

 **Well, how have you all been? I hope well :) What did you think of the chapter? I have been out of the swing of things for about two months now so it may seem a little rusty (forgive me on that). Please leave me a review and let me know what you think – I am always open to comments :)**

 **As ever, all the very best,  
Mariarty :D**


	13. Chapter 13

**Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Academy or anything surrounding it (but I do own this plot :D)**

* * *

JPOV

I sat on the edge of the port, looking out to the water: slow waves rippling in the early morning breeze as the new sun kissed the surface, shimmering like the scales of a dragon amidst his treasure with each jewel reflecting a unique array of colour like the iris' of a whole nation. The air was warm and the sky a fresh blue. There was a sweet aroma of sea salt mixed with the local morning cuisine as the world gently awakened from its slumber.

Istanbul.

I wasn't really sure what I had been expecting; in truth, I hadn't had much time to dwell. But even three days in, the city's beauty that had struck me almost as soon as I had left the plane still hadn't left me. Coming from a relatively isolated part of the US, then pottering about in rural south-east England and its docks, Turkey seemed a whole world away.

Not that I was complaining. Absolutely not, I was quite enjoying this newfound adventure – something definitely unexpected. If my mother could see me now... She'd still probably find something to fault. Skirting away from your duty, she'd say. My fantasy dissolved and I quickly looked around to make sure I wasn't completely neglecting my duty. I was surprised to see Ibrahim standing a few metres back, looking not at the beautiful view in front of him, but at me. Regardless, he wasn't in the hotel and that was concerning.

"How long have you been standing there?" I asked whilst darting my gaze around, making sure that nothing around us would offer any threat. The sun had dawned, but I wasn't convinced even that could stop a determined Strigoi. Not to mention the fact that we now knew _La Luz_ operated here, which added a whole new level of danger.

Ibrahim seemed unaffected, maintaining a somewhat comparative yet appreciative expression for a few moments before answering. "Not long."

I pushed myself to my feet to get a better few of our surroundings. "You could have been hurt."

He smiled and walked towards me, passing a rectangular wooden container of soil with young flowers and greenery just beginning to bloom. He hovered his hand over it. "I think we both know," he said as the soil began to shift, a stem reach out and flower into a deep red rose, "that I can take care of myself." He picked it up and tucked it behind my ear.

I eyed him critically. "What are you after?"

He chuckled. "I am glad you think so highly of me." He walked passed me and sat down on the edge of the port, his legs dangling freely above the water's surface.

"You shouldn't be out here." I said.

He turned his head and raised a brow. "And why is that, _Guardian_ Hathaway?"

I put my hands on my hips and nodded towards the infant sun. "Need I remind you of your vampiric disposition, _Mr_ Mazur?"

He shrugged. "I've grown somewhat resilient." I was sceptical, but really not in the mood to argue. I let my arms drop to my sides and did another sweep of the area, refusing to take any chances. He, on the other hand, was not so troubled. "As much as it is a pleasure conversing with your lovely self, it is rather straining from where I'm sitting." He said patting the spot next to him.

I scowled. "Heaven forbid you be in any sort of discomfort." But I obliged all the same, plonking down very ungracefully, making sure to knock him in to process.

He smiled. "Thank you."

I figured I'd make good this time. "Did you hear from your guy?" We were to meet yet another one of Ibrahim's associates. I somewhat doubted the efficiency of the organisation if its agents could just introduce outsiders to classified members, but I wasn't exactly complaining: Vincent had been both a pleasure and a ridiculous help and whilst I couldn't attribute the former to the allusive _renard_ , he had aided in taking Pablo off our hands without signing his death warrant so I had reason to like him, though the opinions of both Ibrahim and Vincent would suggest otherwise.

The next member, however, confused me.

Whilst the union of a Turk, a Brit and a Frenchman sounded like the start of a bad joke, add a _Reverend_ and it just got a whole lot worse. Reverend Paul Hamlet was his name. I had sort of assumed that his first name was _Reverend_ rather than his occupation, but apparently not. Emyl too shared my surprise on the matter which led both of us being chastised by Harriet for being too judgemental. In our defence, one wouldn't normally associate goodly Christian values with an underground criminal organisation. Also, I was pretty sure the dominant religion in Turkey was Islam. Regardless, Paul Hamlet fitted the 'engima' bill rather well and not just from my view. Despite working with him for over three years, Ibrahim had yet to learn anything about the man, not even his country of origin. My semester in English Literature at St Vlad's had me guessing Denmark, but according to Ibrahim, Hamlet had never been. Although, I did learn one interesting thing about the goodly Reverend and that was his character: the assessment courtesy of one Ibrahim Mazur:

"He is like," he said, "the middle ground between Charles and _renard_. Charming and cunning: a dangerous but devilishly effective compound."

A little ironic, I thought.

In any case, the other detail of significance to us was the fact that he was living in Turkey at the minute and had a place for us to stay. Not that I wasn't thrilled with the prospect of a nice, comfy hotel room, but unlike Michael's Motel in the isolated heart of Pennsylvania, the hotels in Istanbul were much to public an environment for what we were doing. The only reason we weren't at Hamlet's house now was that he was on some sort of investigation and one could compromise both his and our safety if we had just barged in without any preparation.

And so, with all that in mind, Ibrahim replied, "Yes, apparently his op. is proving more complicated than expected, but he said we could be in within a week."

I grimaced. It wasn't ideal. Any delay could cost Harriet's mother's life, not to mention the bloody queen. Ibrahim didn't look too happy either. He was passing it off in his usual cool manner, but the bags under his eyes and tension in his form all suggested he was on edge. He positioned his arms behind him and leaned back and closed his eyes, basking in the morning glow, sighing loudly as if trying to deflate some of that built up stress. I watched him for a moment before turning back to the view that had captivated me earlier on. The breeze ran its fingers through my hair and I made to tuck a stray lock behind my eye; the act reminding me of the rose that lay there. Instinctively, my fingers moved to take it out, but my brain stopped them, hesitated for a moment before bringing them down into my lap, leaving the rose be.

It was then when Emyl came out.

"Jenny, have you seen-oh." Ibrahim opened his eyes and turned to look at Emyl. I lifted my head and shrugged. Emyl eyed us wearily. "Vince is on the phone for you, Abe. Apparently, it is urgent."

Ibrahim frowned, but pushed himself up before turning to help me. I scowled at him and he grinned. "Own battles?"

"Own battles." And I forced myself up without his help. Ibrahim chuckled and walked back, thanking Emyl as he did. Emyl nodded, but turned to me as soon as the Moroi walked passed.

"What are you doing?" He snapped.

I glared up at him. "What do you mean, what I am I doing?"

"Sitting out here? With _him_? Enjoying the roses?" he said flicking the flower on my head.

I quickly tore it from its resting place and tossed it away. "Oh, it is not like that. You know what he is like and he just wanted to have a little chat, a little bit of peace, and you know what, I can understand that." I said, sweeping passed him.

I heard him grunt but follow all the same, matching my fast stride almost instantly with his longer legs. "He is dangerous, Jenny. I don't trust him."

"Why not?" I challenged. "Has he given you any reason not to?"

"I just have a feeling-"

"Great. So you have a 'feeling' and we immediately hate the guy, despite the fact that he has proven himself useful more times than I actually care to remember?"

Emyl looked taken aback. "Why are you defending him!?"

"Is that not my job?" I snapped.

He glared. "That's not what I meant. Is there something going on between you two?"

"Oh, don't be ridiculous!"

"Am I, though?"

I stopped and resisted punching him in the groin. "You are hardly one to speak."

He snapped his head towards me. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

I scoffed. "Oh, I see the way you look at Harriet." He recoiled, glaring at me for a moment, clenching and unclenching his fists before turning away and striding off. _Oh, you son of a bitch._ "Oi!" I shouted catching up with him, "So, you can accuse me of a whole manner of unfounded and moronic things, but as soon as I mention something meaningful you storm off like a child. You pathetic hypocrite!" I spat.

And with that his control snapped. He lashed round and swung at me. I deflected and countered. Striking him in his ribs, he grunted and pushed me back – using his superior height and strength. I staggered back, stumbling on my feet, but regaining compatibility just in time to jump out of the way of his next attack. Sensing my advantage, I pounced: ducking down and running into his legs, Emyl fell to the floor, but was quick to recover. He rolled me over, attempting to pin me down. Instinct took over and I kneed him in the stomach. He winced and I pushed, flipping us over so that I was on top straddling his waist. He jolted, shoving me off, but I gripped on: the effect had us rolling like an old, wooden wagon wheel gone astray. I stuck my leg out, stopping us dead; my foot catching against his throat. He gripped his leg around my own neck and we remained locked in that stalemate – both trying to wriggle free but neither willing to give up the advantage.

But that was a decision neither of us got to make...

I screamed as a torrent of freezing water flooded over me and I heard Emyl do the same. We both let go, simultaneously reaching for our stakes, but the water had us shocked so instead of strength there was stagger. I fumbled on my feet, trying to shake out the water that soaked through my clothes, before I saw her face.

 _Harriet._

Any hardness in Emyl's feature softened immediately to one of almost pleading and guilt. I too felt my hear shatter in my chest as I saw the water-user drop her palm and look at us both through watered eyes.

"Allies for life?" she said, the disbelief clear in her voice. She looked broken. Beaten. Defeated. But then there was a shift and her countenance changed to one of over-boiling rage. "What the hell is the matter with you!?"

"Harriet-" I tried to speak but was cut short by her glare.

"No, Janine. No." She cast her furious gaze between Emyl and I. "We have known each other since we were five years old. We played together, we learned together – you two fought together, for the love of God! What is the matter with you!? The world as we know it is falling apart and you two think it best to kill each other before _they_ get to us. Ha!" she blurted, looking up to the sky as if expecting some sort of divine intervention. Upon finding nothing, she turned back to Emyl and I, her face stained by un-wiped tears; her eyes blazing with scorn and bitterness. "What's the point? So you know what – _I'm_ going to find this stupid base, _I'm_ going to shut it down and then _I_ am going to get my mother back because _she_ is the only one who I haven't lost. You two can do as you please." And with that, she turned away, walking back to the hotel.

Emyl did not waste a second. Glancing over to me, his eyes conveyed his remorse as his words never could. But just for a moment, for he ran after Harriet. I watched them from where he left me: she pushing him away and him falling to his knees, helplessly begging her to forgive him. And she broke down. She could not hold it any longer and she collapsed to the ground beside him, allowing the tears to fall faster and harder down. Emyl engulfed her in his arms and held her tight, glancing above him to the sky, as if to say thank you.

Despite my distance, I still felt I was intruding. I was used to being unwanted, but never in the presence of Emyl and Harriet. I suppose I should have known: I had been with them since we were children, watched them grow and, in effect, watched them fall in love, though I am not sure either would admit it. It was always going to be them together, but it was nice to believe that I had my own place of belonging. _Forgive me._ I turned my head away to see the rose: it lay soaked with its rich red petals squashed into the ground as though it had been pressed together in a book. It suddenly didn't matter where I was – that I was in possibly the most beautiful city I had seen and perhaps would ever see – it was still the same feeling that I knew all too well.

Glancing back, I saw Ibrahim emerge from the hotel. He did not look twice at the scene before him: Harriet sobbing in Emyl's soaked embrace and me standing, dripping wet, about a hundred metres away. I frowned. His movements were jolted and tensed. Marching forward, I intercepted his stride and saw his eyes were wild, frantic.

"Ibrahim?"

The quick irises halted. "Janine...I..." he stuttered.

My frown increased. "What?" I said flatly, really not in the mood for another man to piss me off that day.

He blinked and did a double take, evidently just becoming aware of my drenched state. "How-"

"Don't change the subject." I interjected. "What did Vincent say that's got you so wound up? Spit it out."

A ghost of a smirk graced his lips, but was suppressed under the frenzied disposition. He glanced away. "Something has come up..."

"What? With Hamlet?"

"No. No, that's fine. It's..." he trailed off.

His usual ominous persona was not appreciated in that moment. "Are you going to tell me, Mr Mazur, or am I going to have to beat it out of you?"

He chuckled. "My, my, Guardian Hathaway – and here I thought we were getting on so well, not..." he looked at his watch, "ten minutes ago."

"Do I have to count to ten...?"

"Alright!" he raised his arms. "A very dear friend of mine is in trouble and requires my aid. I will only be gone a few days-"

"What!?" I blurted. "You're leaving us? To go...where exactly."

"..." He mumbled something.

"Sorry, didnae quite-"

"Russia!" he exclaimed and I'm pretty sure woke up all of Istanbul in the process. "Russia. I am going to Russia for a few days to help out _my_ friend in a dire situation. It will not interfere with the mission. I will be back to take you to Hamlet. It will be fine, _Guardian_ Hathaway." He stated, the resolution and resolve in his voice was unmistakable.

"You're going to Russia?" I jumped at Emyl's voice. Harriet standing beside him, composed but definitely not content.

Ibrahim looked confused as he looked between myself and the other dampened member of our slightly feuding group, but made no comment. "Yes. And I assume you're eavesdropping allowed you to hear the reason why."

Emyl tensed and clenched his fists. "The louder the voice, the easier it is to hear."

"I think this will be good." Emyl, Ibrahim and I were all startled at the authority in Harriet's voice, usually so quite when these sorts of 'discussions' were going on. "A little separation to cool whatever this..." she gestured at the air between us all, "...thing is. Emyl and I will stay here and see if we can't dig anything up on this base, while you and Janine go help your friend." She said looking at Ibrahim.

"Hang on-"

"Janine, are you really going to let a Moroi travel across countries, _unprotected..._?" Harriet said, her flaring eyes meeting mine as she dealt a blow I could not defend.

"Really, Miss Conta, I am touched but I can assure you that I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself."

But that wasn't the point. I had made a vow. _They come first. They come first._ Serve until my very last breath. Protect above all. Harriet wasn't stupid. She had appealed to my logic, my pride and honour: I was a guardian, first and foremost, and to abandon Ibrahim to Russia alone would defy everything I had sworn to uphold.

Yet, I also knew why she was doing it. Even then, in all my enraged anger, I knew it was best that Emyl and I got our distance: a kingdom divided would only ruin itself and ours was on the brink of collapse.

And so I relented. "No, Mr Mazur: you need a guardian and I am coming with you."

* * *

"Janine."

I shoved another top back into my bag. I mean, what was I thinking? Unpacking? Had I learnt nothing?

"Janine."

I was actually quite surprised we had managed three days here. Croft wasn't too chuffed about the delay, but he had his own issues. Thankfully, Drew wasn't one of them, though having him running all over the USA looking for refugees from the storming of the Royal Court was not an overly comforting thought.

" _Janine_."

I stopped. "In case it had escaped your expert notice, _Mr Mazur_ : I don't want to talk right now."

He sighed and strode over to me, plucking my bag from my hand and tossing it aside. "You need to calm down."

"Calm down!?" I exclaimed. "Calm down, he says! I am about to go on a trip in the middle of a life-depending mission that I know absolutely nothing about with a man who I am getting more and more conflicted by every time I see him just after literally fighting with my best friend who I am now convinced hates me, not to mention that this caused the nicest person I knew to-"

"Janine." He whispered my name, like a broken echo. Its tenderness struck me to silence. He hesitated, indecision in his eyes showing the internal conflict before resolving: he cupped my cheeks and brought his lips to my own. I had expected myself to push him away, or at least freeze like there was a wasp in the room – definitely not join in. Yet I matched his passion with that of my own. The sensation over-whelmed my judgement and excited every fibre of my being. I relished every moment of it. I didn't want it to stop. I-

I jolted myself awake.

"Ah, Janine, you're up. Good." I blinked, riling in shock, which Ibrahim seemed completely oblivious to. We sat side by side once again on a plane, but this time was off the books. Guardian Croft, we decided, didn't need to know that half of his Istanbul-squad had run off to Russia, or indeed were running off as it was. We had checked in with Emyl and Harriet before we left and Ibrahim had set them up with a hotline directly to Vincent (who, as we learnt, had been committed to a game of cricket with a side of afternoon tea, which I learned included more than just a brew at half past three).

I was vaguely aware that Ibrahim was talking, but not paying any attention. I was still feeling the feelings of my dream, the feeling of his intimacy: his body against mine, his hands running across my back, the taste of his mouth against mine. But that wasn't even the worst part. No, that place was given to the very strong part of me that _wanted_ it again.

I was suddenly very glad Vincent wasn't here...

"Guardian Hathaway?"

"Hmm?" I blinked, my body tensing defensively out of the fear that he too could read my thoughts.

Thankfully, he seemed completely unaware of what was going on in my head. "Are you alright?"

"Fine." I said a little too quickly.

He eyed me sceptically. "Okay..." he cleared his throat, "As I was saying, we should land in about an hour and get to Novosibirsk by 20:00, local time, but the question is whether we want to stay overnight or press on to-"

"Hang on," I interrupted. "Where are we going? I thought it was just a quick trip to Moscow?"

Ibrahim smiled. "I said a quick trip to _Russia_. Russia is a little bit more than just Moscow."

I scowled. "Ha-ha." He chuckled. "So where in _Russia_ are we going?"

He looked at me with complete indifference as he said the word: "Siberia"

"Jesus Christ!" I exclaimed, getting a dodgy look from the woman adjacent to us. Ibrahim laughed again. "This must be some crisis to make you drop everything to go right into the middle of Russia."

His expression hardened. "Yes."

I recoiled a little at his tone. "They must be very important to you."

He nodded. "She is."

 _She?_

"Do I detect jealously in your tone there, _Guardian_ Hathaway?" I cursed inwardly when I realised I had said that out loud.

"You wish, Mazur." I said, dropping all titles. "It's just quite surprising to hear that you don't just hang out with your little boyband."

He snorted. "I don't think we've ever...'hung out' as you put it." He said shaking his head a little. "No, she's just...she's a very old friend of mine."

"You don't have to explain-"

"I know." He interjected. "I want to, though." He cleared his throat awkwardly. "My parents and I, we moved around quite a bit over the years, Russia was just another stop. But I went to school there and I made a few friends, one of which being the woman we are going to see. Even after I had moved on again, we still stayed in touch. I even introduced Vincent to her when we had an assignment in Tomsk."

My eyes widened as realisation set in. "The omelette-lady. This is the friend that taught you how to make it."

He smiled. "Yes."

"Olivia, right?"

"Olena." He corrected and I rolled my eyes. "Olena Belikova."

* * *

 **Hello my dear comrades in Comrade.**

 **Long time, no see; I hope I find you guys well :) Apologies for the slightly shorter/filler-esque chapter, but I can assure you, excitement in on the way ;) Not mention the inclusion of certain characters... *hint*hint* I am actually really enjoying writing mostly my own characters, particularly the freedom in setting my own boundaries for them. For me, I find that characters drive the story, so I do tend to spend a lot of time brainstorming different ones. Seriously, I have a little bank going xD I am slightly concerned that I may be shoving too many in, but, meh xD**

 **I am trying to do as much writing as possible, but struggling quite spectacularly. A little relief has been accomplished as my Oxbridge application fell through. It was entirely my own fault, but I still feeling a little raw about it, but I am finding a little more time to write now which is good :) I've signed up for Nanowrimo again with my friend, but I'm not sure how successful that will be xD We shall see :3**

 **I shall update as soon as I can, but here's wishing you all the best,  
Mariarty **


	14. Chapter 14

**Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Academy or anything surrounding it (but I do own this plot :D)**

* * *

JPOV

Christ, it was cold. I buried my hands deeper into their pockets and scrunched my neck into my collar; the wind nipped on my cheeks like it was flicking me with a knife and my only resistance was a grimace. As it was April, the winter season was coming to an end, but the temperature remained decidedly cold, as though winter wasn't quite ready to bugger off yet.

 _Selfish bastard,_ I thought. They say that it was Britain that had the cold, drizzly weather. Clearly, they had not been to Russia.

"Ah, Guardian Hathaway. Enjoying the weather?" I did not move my head from its nest in my collar and between my scrunched shoulders, but my eyes shifted enough to glare at the smirking Moroi who had just entered my peripheral.

"Mr Mazur," I said, annunciating every syllable in my frost-induced state, "remind me which of us is carrying a weapon?"

"Whoever told you I was not?" He cocked a brow.

I scowled. "What did the taxi guy say?" I snapped, changing the subject.

"Hard to tell. His Russian was worse than mine, but from what I could make out..." he said trailing off a little as he caught another glimpse at my face. "I fear you may not like it..."

Great. Just great.

A growl formed deep in my throat, tickling me with its vibration as it begged to be released. "How long?"

"Up to an hour, probably two."

"Quick trip to Russia, my ass." I muttered.

Apparently, this was to Ibrahim's great amusement. He chuckled in that smiling way he did that broke down the formal persona he always put on: a mask of eerie politeness. Yet, as we stood, _freezing_ , in Novosibirsk while we waited for our hire car to arrive get us to Baia, the facade was gone. Indeed, it wasn't really surprising, but in the stress of it all, he hadn't had time to shave, which left his face laced with a layer of bearded stubble, giving him a somewhat rugged complexion. Combined with the worn down, but still ever-so eye catching suit, he practically fit the bill for your average highwayman. I would've said pirate, but there wasn't nearly enough leather. And he had way too many manners, I noted as he arranged our luggage into a make shift seat and gestured for me to sit. I hesitated out of principle. He eyed me for a moment, smirked, shrugged and sat down, still leaving enough room for me. I scowled and joined him.

We had checked in with Harriet and Emyl upon our arrival in Moscow. Ibrahim's hotline to the plucky Brit was proving to be of much use: apparently Vincent didn't take family reunions too well and was sneaking out when he could to, and I quote, "alleviate at least some of the torturous activity". They were gathering as much as though could, careful not to encroach on Hamlet and his mission. Evidently, there were some boundaries with these boys.

Well, maybe not with all of them...

"What do you think you are doing!?" I jumped up and off the suitcase upon feeling Ibrahim's hand touch my far shoulder.

He looked up, his arm still extended, and frowned. "Guardian Hathaway, perhaps you hadn't noticed, but you are currently having a somewhat unpleasant reaction to the present weather situation. Since you are far too selfless to accept my aid in the matter as an act of kindness, your shivering was starting to bug me, so sit down and let me make it stop."

Son of a- I growled again, tightening my folded arms. Dear God, this man was infuriating! I continued to glare at him with no affect on his resolve. "Sit."

I submitted. Plonking down back into his embrace and trying to hate every minute of it. "You better not be smirking, mate."

"Yes, I have learnt to keep my facial contortions to myself around you." He replied. I rolled my eyes and snuggled deeper into his side, not really realising, at the time, what I was doing.

We were silent for a moment, primarily because the only noise I could get out of my lips successfully was the sound of chattering teeth. Though I wasn't about to admit it, his plan was definitely working and I was definitely warming up. I tried pretending the chatter my teeth, but this quickly proved futile so I directed my focus elsewhere. "How old were you?"

"Hmm?"

I cleared my throat awkwardly. "How old were you when you came to Russia?"

If he was confused at my sudden change in topic, he didn't show it; merely, he replied in the same flippant yet somehow thoughtful manner. "I was twelve and we left when I was sixteen."

I looked up a little. "Only four years? What made you leave?"

Ibrahim shrugged. "My father, his job was somewhat...similar to my own, shall we say," he said casting a wary look my way. "He made many enemies, almost everywhere we went. He, my mother and I were always on the, or at least ready to, move."

I winced a little. "That can't have been easy."

A flash of a smirk danced over his features before disappearing as quickly as it came. He looked lost in his thoughts for a moment before seeming to remember that I was still there. "Perhaps it is why I am an only child." He said with superficial amusement.

I felt a pang of guilt bringing this up, so endeavoured to cheer him up. "Nah, maybe they took one look at you and realised you were quite enough work on your own."

To my shock, he burst out laughing. I smiled wholly, glad to have recovered and not lead him down a too upsetting path. "That is equally plausible." He looked down at me, with a smile that covered his every feature. "What is your favourite colour?"

I blinked, frowned and looked up at him more. "I-sorry?"

His smile increased. "Come, you asked me a question. Can I not do the same?"

I mean, it was a perfectly sound argument, but I was slightly baffled by the randomness of the question. "Green..." I said with caution.

He seemed to ponder over the answer. "I would have guessed blue."

I cocked my brow slyly. "Why, because I am so cold-hearted?"

He chuckled. "No. That is not why."

Now that he had brought it up, I was quite interested to know what his was, however useless a piece of information it was. "What's yours?"

"Red." He said definitely. "The more muted, darker colours though, not the bold-in-your-face type."

I rolled my eyes at the general Ibrahim-ness which that sentence exhibited. "I agree: I am much fonder of the natural greens. They seem more...real."

He smiled again. "First kiss?"

"I beg your pardon." I said slightly over-dramatically, feigning insult, though was still surprised by his questioning.

"Oh dear, have I offended your delicate, lady-like constitution? I am ever so sorry." He replied, mirroring my level of dramatics.

I gently jabbed his side with my fist. "No you're not."

"Not even slightly." He said with a chuckle. "So who was he?" he paused, reconsidering. "Or she?"

I fixed him with my eyes. " _He_." He chuckled. "Why do you want to know, anyway?"

He shrugged which was a rather odd feeling given that I was pressed under his arm. "As I say, we may be here a while: humour me."

I was slightly concerned that he may want to go track the chap down and beat him up, or whatever it was the Ibrahim did. In all honesty, I would've probably helped him considering who it was. As pitiful as it was, the kiss that Alastair Kravitz planted upon me at the Ivashkov party – where this whole cacophony of catastrophes began – in aid of a stupid bet was my first. The small romantic part of me wanted was rather pissed at that, having wanted it to actually mean something, but in truth, intimacy was always something of a mystery and a discomfort for me, so I didn't wish to dwell on it too much. However, there was no way I was admitting to Ibrahim that I had only had my first kiss less than a month ago, so devised another solution. "It was at some big, fancy party at Court. I can't really remember it: his name was Alan, I think. Maybe Alastair, I don't know." I tried to sound as casual as possible, but it wasn't working. Man, I really sucked at lying.

Ibrahim, obviously, didn't believe a word of that, but did not call me out on it. I suspected he didn't expect me to give an honest answer, but knew me well enough that there would be some truth in the matter. A small burst of panic ran through me as my brain reminded me of the extent of Ibrahim's inference skills, but he replied with his usual aura of casualness. "No matter, he definitely doesn't deserve your time, let alone your thoughts."

Now it was my turn to read between the lines. His comment seemed to both alarm and comfort me at the same time in the way on Ibrahim knew how. I grimaced at the thought, but was spared from having to change the subject when he spoke again: "Milah Ornek: she was mine. She was eight and I six."

I couldn't resist the quip and looked up at him. "Like your women older, do you?"

He smiled. "I like my women, whatever way they come." He said with a wink.

I shook my head and resumed my position. "Was it a long-term relationship?" I asked, slightly teasingly.

He nodded. "Indeed: lasted all of a day." I snorted and hid my laughter in his side. "Guardian Hathaway, are you laughing at me?" he said, feigning hurt which only served in making me laugh more. "I'll have you know, she was my first love."

I composed myself, biting down on my bottom lip. "Sorry."

"No you're not."

I smiled. "Not even slightly."

He shook his head and sighed loudly into the cold night. "So go on then, an eye for an eye, who was your first love, so I can mock him relentlessly?"

I stiffened a little and, being as we were, I had a feeling Ibrahim felt it too. As it will surprise no-one, affairs of the heart were not my forte, so I tried to answer honestly, but carefully. "Emyl, I suppose." One look at Ibrahim's face and I realised further explanation was required. "Not like that. But he was my first friend and I suppose friendship is a kind of love..." I trailed off, thinking about how we had parted. How far we had come from those two, scrawny kids paired together once in class and then allied ever since. _Allies for life._ How far had we fallen...

Ibrahim considered for a moment. "Surely then, your first love would be your parents?" Instead of stiffening again, I removed myself fully from his embrace and turned away. He flinched. "Janin-"

"Don't."

He retreated, the hand that was extended out fell to his lap and he remained a respectful distance. "Forgive me. It is an unfortunate habit of mine: seeing information but being blind to its significance."

I paused and closed my eyes, swallowing down every emotion threatening to boil over in my throat. "Consider yourself forgiven: it is not your fault."

"Neither is it yours, I suspect." He said. I tightened my eyelids, desperately blocking out everything around me. I wanted to disappear – shrivel down into a dark pit and vanish. Running was always easier than fighting when I came to the battlefield of emotions, _particularly_ with regard to my...'parents'. So desperate and distracted was I in blocking out the wider world that I did not notice when Ibrahim got up and walked round to face me. It was only brought to my attention with the feel of his fingertips against my chin, tilting my head and impulsively-opened gaze towards his remorseful eyes. "Worry not: the past needn't always grace the present. It can remain forgotten." My lips twitched and I watched as he rose from his squat, turning around to check the road again, but inadvertently crashing into a passer-by.

" _Izvinite-_ "

" _Nyet pro-_ Ibrahim?"

Ibrahim took one look at the man, blinked and punched him in the face.

* * *

Remember when I told you about how Ibrahim could shock me, beyond anything at any given moment? And also how it peaked?

Well...

"Ibrahim!" I shot from both my own self-pity and my seat, no longer feeling the coldness of the weather. Ibrahim, from my perspective having just punched a random guy in the street, continued to beat the man relentlessly. I witnessed then what I had imagined to be a demonological possession: a corruption of all things good in place of pure, unadulterated fury. He smacked, he kicked and he knocked the man to the ground. The man, the poor soul, seemed in a paradox of being both shocked and unsurprised. He didn't bother fighting back; hell, I don't think he could. But I had to step in before Ibrahim Mazur killed him. "Ibrahim: look at me!" I ordered, standing in front of him, blockading the man behind me.

"Get out my way, Janine..." he warned, his tone an icy growl that petrified me more than his actions. His chocolate eyes had turned the blackest of black and every fibre of his being emanating rage.

"Ibrahim: stop." I ordered again, though there was a desperate undertone that I could not shake.

His colourless eyes met mine. "Get. Out. Of. My. Way."

I took an involuntary step back, but stood my ground. "No."

Ibrahim inhaled loudly. "Guardian Hathaway, as your charge, I _order_ you to get the _fuck_ out of my way..."

I cast a glance behind me: the man was still rolling about the ground, clutching his stomach and groaning. I looked back at Ibrahim. There was no reasoning. There was no mercy. He held a look that I knew all too well; a look commonly found upon the face of the un-dead, the Strigoi. It poisoned him. Subverted him.

I saw only one option.

I took a step forward, towards the blazing form of rage that stood before me and whispered my sorrow: "Forgive me." And with that, I swung: crashing my palms against his temples, _forgive me_ , so that he staggered and with one final swing, smashed my clenched fist against the underside of his jaw, _forgive me_ , and knocked him out. I saw the colour return to his eyes as the rolled back into his skull; all forces keeping him standing fell away like stripping away a Band-Aid. He fell forward and I caught him, holding him close to my frame and gently easing him to the ground. _Forgive me._

I turned my attention to the man. A shrivelling, moaning mess laying on the white snow, stained blood red. "Hey, pal, you-" I stopped myself, contemplating the highly probably fact he didn't speak English. He groaned again and rolled onto his front. I walked towards him whilst racking my brain for anything Russian. " _Kak dela_?"

"Fear not," he grunted, shaking off my attempted aid and pushing himself to his feet. "I am both well and American."

I wasn't sure how relieved I was at his assurance. "Right. Do you need me to call anyone? Maybe a hospital..." I trailed off with a wince as he stroked his dislodged jaw. His face was red, but under it was what could be considered your conventional, stereotypical handsome face with strong, protruding features and deep, dark green eyes, hidden under the swell of his cheek. I knew it was wrong, but I was quite impressed by the extent of the damage Ibrahim had inflicted on the chap.

I snapped out of my apparent but very much inappropriate admiration of Ibrahim's actions at the sound of the man's strained chuckle. "No, no: I'll be fine. I've been in worse scrapes than this, if you know what I mean." He said with a wink, or at least the closest thing he could manage in his condition.

I clenched my jaw, beginning to see why Ibrahim didn't like him. "Well, if you're sure."

"Yeah, it's all good. People don't ask too many questions round here and, hey, violence is just a means to an end, right?" he said with a smile.

I was then rather impressed with myself for managing to maintain the mask of indifference at that particular comment: he had tried to find some sort of grounding or indeed understanding, but clearly knew absolutely nothing about being a guardian, or even a dhampir. I decided against reacting to his last comment, instead steering the conversation away. "I wish you all the best, sir-"

"Randall."

"Sorry?"

He grinned. "Randall Ivashkov, at your service. But most people call me Rand." He said with a mock bow before digging into his pocket to take out a handkerchief and wiping away some of the blood. "Jenny, was it?"

 _Jenny_. Emyl. I shook out the thought and smiled. "Yes, now I really think you should get seen to."

He shrugged. "I'm tough – I make the rules in my life." I cocked a brow. _Was this guy pissed as well?_ I sighed: we were in Russia after all. Maybe it was an unfair stereotype, but I couldn't imagine that we were far from the nearest vodka supply.

"You should probably go before he wakes up." I gestured to the limp body behind me, not looking round for fear of further guilt.

He seemed to consider for a moment, looking up and down my figure which made my blood boil. "You're probably right. Well, it was nice to meet you, Jenny. I do hope we cross paths again." He tried to extend his arm out, but realising it was broken or sprained or whatever it was, he retracted, smiled and walked away. I watched him through a narrowed glare, a feeling deep within me telling me something was wrong, and not just because Ibrahim, for want of a better word, 'vamped' out on him.

I glanced back to the said Moroi. He looked remarkably peaceful against the thin layer of white on the ground, almost impossible to tell I had knocked him out cold. I walked towards him and squatted down, readjusting his jacket and brushing away the dirt from his face. I see the beginnings of a bruise on his jaw and I looked away.

Thankfully, it was only ten minutes later that the car finally arrived. The driver got out, took one look at Ibrahim and asked I needed a hand. Within the next ten minutes, we had loaded the bags into the boot and loaded Ibrahim into the back and I jumped in next to him. The driver resumed his seat in the front and switched on the radio. "You mind, no?" He asked.

"No, go ahead."

"I take you to Baia, yes?"

I nodded before realising he couldn't see that. "Yes, I have the address if you need it."

"No, I already have address." He said, sliding the car into fourth to cruise along the clear road. It was dark and still cold, the car not being any warmer than the outside, but the thin layer of snow that had lined the Novosibirsk pavement had been worn down by traffic to leave a clear run if tarmac.

The drive was remarkably pleasant, or at least as much as it could be with an unconscious man and a woman too uncomfortable to talk to the other man driving the car. I found solace in the music I didn't understand as I watched the world sneak past in the shadows of the outside world. We had left definitive civilisation a while back and entered into the isolated realm of the heartland of Siberia. I knew nothing of where we were going. Baia? I had never heard of the place. Though, if I'm being entirely honest, I had never heard of Novosibirsk either. Geography was definitely not my strong suit, so there was no choice I'd know about a small, rural town in central Siberia. It also didn't help that I had no idea who this Olena Belikova was, or even what she looked like. How on earth was I supposed to find her?

I glanced over at Ibrahim; he remained unconscious, his head resting against the window and his eyes shut off from the world. I wondered if he'd remember anything when he woke. I had hit him quite hard. Very hard, in fact, so I didn't think he'd be waking up any time soon. _Great._

I must have dozed off at some point because when I opened my eyes, we were slowing down. I frowned. "Are we here?" I said, looking out into the dark abyss.

"Baia, yes." The driver replied, pulling the car to a stop, sliding out of gear and applying the handbrake. He looked round for a moment before hopping out and striding to the back of the car. I stopped looking out the window and started looking at Ibrahim: he was still very much unresponsive.

 _Shit._

I jumped out the car to help the driver with our bags, placing them on the side of the road. I then opened the back-right door and pulled Ibrahim out, plonking him down on the bags. The driver hovered for a bit and it took me a while to notice. "Um, are you okay?"

He seemed confused. "Payment...?"

"Oh, right...um..." I patted myself down to see if I had any money before I glanced towards Ibrahim. I grimaced. _Forgive me._ Rummaging in his jacket pocket, I found a sizable wodge of roubles. Not knowing the currency exchange, I handed it over to the driver who struggled to contain his delight. "I take it that's enough." I said.

He composed his features. "This is about right."

"Sure it is." I said, glancing apologetically towards the unwitting Moroi. The driver, having thanked me, wandered back towards his car. I only caught sight of where he was going after he had got back into the vehicle. "Wait!" I called out, but it was too late. He had gone. I took the opportunity to properly survey my surroundings: we were indeed in a small town, which was a start. Whether it was Baia or not was hard to say. Everything was shut and quiet given that it was eleven o'clock in the evening. The street-lamps were dull and ineffective, but gave enough light so that I could see a substantial distance. I could feel the cold hilt of my stake against my side which held an almost calming edge. I was a guardian. I could deal with this. _Think of it like a training exercise_ , I told myself and began to reassess the environment.

" _Kak dela?_ "

I nearly jumped out of my skin. Leaping round, I backed towards Ibrahim and jolted my stake out in front of me to face the voice. I nearly cried when I saw who owned the voice. A small boy, no more than six years old, stood in front of me. His features were hidden under a long brown fringe which forced him to tilt his head up to look in front of him, but highlighted by the dim glow concocted by the streetlamps and the moonlight. I dropped my stake down and he inclined his little head, seemingly unfazed by the fact I had just threatened him with a weapon.

" _Otkuda vy?_ " he said again.

I blinked. " _Vy-_ " I paused, trying to remember how you said it. " _Vy govorite po-angliiski_?

"Yeah, I speak English."

 _Oh thank God._ "Hi there, I'm Guar-" I stopped. Did they have guardians in communes? Did they know about them? "My name is Janine."

"Who is he?" the little boy nodded towards Ibrahim.

"Oh, him. He's..." I pondered for a moment, "He's my friend. He's just not feeling too well." That was an understatement. The boy frowned under his fringe, as though he did not believe me. I decided to move this along. "We are actually here to see a friend of ours: Olena Belikova?" I said.

The little boy smiled. "I know her."

"You do?" I said, a little involuntarily.

"Mhmm." He nodded.

"Do you know where she lives?" I asked, not believing my luck.

"Mhmm." He nodded again. "But if you are a friend, why don't you know?"

Ah. Damn, this boy was smart. "W-well, we haven't seen her in a while, you see, and..." I looked around for inspiration. "...it's quite dark..." _genius Hathaway_ "...and we got a little lost. My friend here start feeling a little unwell so he sat down and fell asleep."

The little boy considered for a moment before scrunching up his face and shrugging. "I can take you to her."

"Thank you!" I exclaimed, a little too enthusiastically.

The boy grinned and turned to leave, before seeming to remember something and coming back. "Would you like me to carry your bag?"

"Um..." Did I trust him? Did I have a choice? "Yes, thank you." I said, picking up Ibrahim's limp form. I hooked his arm around my shoulders and secured my arm around his waist. His height and my lack thereof proved a little tricky, but I persevered, gritting through the pain. To his credit, the little boy grabbed both bags and began dragging them against the ground, leading me down the street and towards the house towards the end of the block. He had a look of determination on his face and a sense of victory when he reached the door. Pushing against it gently, it opened and he gestured for me to follow. "Oh, I don't think..." Too late. He was already inside. Well, this was a great first impression. I only hoped this Olena was as forgiving as Ibrahim made her out to be.

I followed the little boy through the small hall and into the main living space, with sofas and seats to my right and a dining and kitchen area to my left. I sighed and tugged Ibrahim towards the sofas, plonking him down again, he fell onto his side. It didn't look like a particularly comfortable position, but my arms were way too tired to move him again.

"Dimitri, is that you out of be-" I looked up to see a woman in her mid-twenties. Her eyes met mine and were filled with fear. "Dimka, _prikhodit zdes..._ " she said, reaching out for the boy.

The boy shook his head. " _Nyet, mama._ " He replied and then said something else in Russian. The woman responded, repeating one of the words, and the boy nodded. I had no idea what was happening, so when the woman looked at me, all I felt was fear.

"You know Ibrahim?" she said in perfect English.

Startled, I hesitated. "Uh, yeah. He's um..." I nodded to the couch in front of me. The woman frowned and walked round, grabbing who I now assumed to be her son in the process, and blinked rapidly upon seeing Ibrahim on her sofa. She cast a glance over to me and bit her lip. I was about to feel even worse when I realised she was trying not to laugh.

"See, mama – it's the man." The little boy, Dimitri, said, tugging at his mother's dressing gown.

"That it is, my dear." She turned her attention to me. "I am so sorry, where are my manners. My name is Olena Belikova." She said, extending her arms out towards me.

A wave of relief flooded over me and I took her hand. "I'm Janine. Janine Hathaway."

* * *

 **Hello my dear comrades in Comrade!**

 **Ah, isn't it nice to see some familiar faces :P Oh, this is going to be so much fun! I am genuinely so excited for this right now, I have missed Romitri! Granted Rose is, for slightly obvious reasons, not going to be here, but I am more than contented with just Dimitri :D**

 **So Nanowrimo isn't going too well, but you know, I'm quite happy just to continue with this instead. I am sort of getting back into the swing of things so hopefully,** _ **hopefully**_ **, I shall be able to update soon :D**

 **Oh, and for any mistakes on the Russian front, I do apologise. I am trying to learn Russian, but I haven't managed to do it for quite a while now, so I am a little rusty :3 Please feel free to correct, if you are so inclined – I think I need all the help I can get xD**

 **Here's wishing you every blessing,  
Mariarty **


	15. Chapter 15

**Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Academy or anything surrounding it (but I do own this plot :D)**

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JPOV

I brought my hands up towards my nose, the blanket in my grip subsequently falling over my mouth and tightening around my awaking body whilst my mind fought to keep me asleep. It had been a long and exhausting couple of weeks. I couldn't actually remember the last time I properly went to sleep: always seeming to jolt in and out of consciousness throughout the entire process of this mission, never feeling safe enough, secure enough, to let the slumber fully take me.

And yet, here I felt safe.

I couldn't quite place the reason, but the sheer feeling of security that I felt in the Belikova house was something I wasn't sure I had ever felt, not even at St Vlads, the place I identified as home. Well, the closest thing to it. But even that struggled in comparison to that night in Baia. I smiled, my mind accepting defeat and my eyes fluttered open…

...to see a very sly-looking Ibrahim.

"Ah, Guardian Hathaway: good morning." he said, grinning widely. "Tea or coffee?" He asked with mock politeness.

I instantly tensed, the former bliss evoked by a good night's sleep dissolving like ice in boiling water. "Coffee. Black-"

"-no sugar, I know." he finished, handing me the prepared cup, that bloody smirk not leaving his face for a second.

I watched him like a lioness buried deep in long grass, the blanket dropping down as I carefully extended my hand out to take the caffeinated beverage. Bringing the cup to my lips, I stopped: looking down at the deep brown liquid and sniffing the top tentatively.

He chuckled. "Be assured," he said, "I have not poisoned it." I really would not have put it passed him. As if he were his British comrade, his smile increased at my thoughts, but he tamed it and resumed a look of pleasant indifference. "May I have permission to speak candidly, Guardian Hathaway? The events of last night appear in somewhat of a daze to me, but I had the strangest dream…" he said, over-acting just a little.

I scowled, very much not enjoying this game. "You were going to kill him."

All trace of amusement fell from his face. His eyes hardened and form went rigid, reminding once again of how dangerous and terrifying he could be, if he desired. "He'd deserve it." His voice was gravelled and low, the words slipping out like a predatory growl and his Turkish lilt dripping with fury. A strange emotion flashed across his face and he closed his eyes, looking away. "You wouldn't understand, I-"

"I do."

He looked back, his gaze positively quizzical at my remark. "You do?" He questioned warily.

I simply nodded. I knew exactly the reason for Ibrahim's rage and reaction and, honestly, I think I would have done the same. Sure, it clashed with every principle I had been indoctrinated with since infancy, but damn it: that man should not have walked out of here alive…

 _I sat on the soft armchair in the far right corner of the room, adjacent to the longer sofa where Ibrahim lay. He was looking a little more comfortable as Olena tucked him into a thick duvet after having offered and then given me a cup of tea. I felt a pair of eyes on me and I flicked my own to see little Dimitri watching me intensely from the footstool in the centre of the room: he was kneeling on the floor with his arms resting on the square, fabric poof; his head was cradled by his hands, with fingers that move to brush his long fringe to the sides of his face._

 _I shifted in my seat._

" _Are you a Guardian?" He asked, after several moments of uncomfortable staring assessment._

 _I tightened my grip round the mug and smiled. "I am."_

 _His eyes brightened and danced with intrigue. "Do you have super-senses – can you can hear a Strigoi from a mile away and move at lightning speed and see everything in slow motion, like on the films?"_

 _I couldn't help the smile. "Not quite. I am just like everyone else, but I use my senses a little more."_

 _My response seemed to excite him even more. "So..." he hesitated. "So, I could be one too?"_

 _I glanced towards Olena, unsure of her view on her son's present ambitions, for I didn't particularly want to conflict with how she was bringing up her child. However, she appeared to be busy rummaging around in a cupboard as her son gave me a full out interrogation, glancing up for a moment to give me a nod of reassurance. "Of course you can." I said and his face was so bright I think it could have lit up the whole street._

" _I'm going to be the best guardian." He declared._

 _I smiled. "Oh, really?"_

" _Yeah! No-one will get near to my charge." He said proudly. "I'll bash and shove and stab them out the way." He leapt of his knees to show me. His hair fell down over his face, but did little to deter the wee lad._

 _I was actually quite surprised to see how co-ordinated Dimitri was and his punches, whilst a little clumsy, held a certain technical undertone. If I didn't know any better, I'd have said he'd seen it done before... I shook out the somewhat disturbing idea and the smile returned._

" _You'd be the strength of the regiment." I said before realising I had quoted Drew. Man, you know you're in a dire situation when you start quoting_ Andrew Harrison.

" _Is he your charge?" Dimitri asked, ceasing his movements and pointing towards Ibrahim._

 _I followed his finger to look at the Moroi. "Yes, I suppose he is." I said, musing a little._

 _Dimitri hesitated again, taking a step towards me and whispering so that Olena couldn't hear. "Did he really fall asleep?" he said, giving me a knowing look._

 _I smiled: he really was a smart one. "How did you know?"_

 _He grinned, but attempted to pass his smugness off with a shrug. "He's tough: he always comes after the other man's been here. He helps mama – he's like her guardian. You'd have to be just as tough to beat him." He said with a remarkably Ibrahim-like smirk, but I couldn't bring myself to accept the compliment. The 'other man'? A cold shiver ran through my back, but Dimitri remained completely oblivious. "You can fight? Like properly fight?" he said, large brown eyes shining up at me through strands of tangled brown hair._

" _I-yes..." I stuttered, looking over at Olena, who had evidently found what she was looking for and was rushing in the kitchen, straightening things up thus not being available to guide me through this particular topic. The icy feeling within me grew._

" _Can you teach me?"_

 _Thankfully, I was spared my response by Olena's intervention. "Dimka, why don't we stop asking Janine questions; she is very tired and would like to go to sleep."_

 _He assessed me with his eyes and frowned. "No, she's not."_

"Dimitri _."_

 _He hung his head down."Yes, mama."_

 _Olena sighed softly, a tender smile gracing her soft features, but my brief inspection alerted me to a subtle cut on the side of her temple and a slightly swollen jaw. "It is well past your bedtime, young man."_

 _Dimitri's head shot up. "But I'm not tired!" he protested, evidently knowing where this conversation was going._

" _You will be tomorrow."_

" _But I'm not now." He said with a little whine._

 _Olena sighed. "You need to go to bed, Dimka. You need some sleep."_

" _But what if he comes back"_

 _I frowned. He? Watching Olena's reaction, I saw the pain flash behind her eyes and my concern grew. She walked over to her son, knelt down to his height and placed her hands on his shoulders. "He won't come back,_ moy milaya _."_

" _But what if-"_

" _He won't, I promise." She interrupted gently, somewhat lacking the conviction of the statement._

 _Dimitri looked both troubled and unconvinced. "You promise?"_

 _Olena nodded. "I do." Dimitri still looked unappeased and I saw Olena's eyes flick over to mine. She smiled. "Plus, now we have a real Guardian to help us - so he won't be able to get close to us."_

 _It was then that it clicked: Olena's bruising, Dimitri's skill and Ibrahim's rage. I suddenly felt very sick._

 _Dimitri turned his little head towards me, his fringe obscuring his features again but he pushed it out the way with his hand and moved towards me. "You'll protect her." It wasn't a question._

 _I nodded with as much conviction as I could muster, yet acutely aware of the little boy's age: I didn't know how much he knew, or understood, but I tried to lighten the mood for both our sakes. "I'll take the night watch, commander."_

 _He beamed up at me, the solemn seriousness evaporated and the childish joy returned. "_ Spaciba soldat!" _He exclaimed with a salute. I saluted back, shifting the mug to a more secure position between my legs._

 _Olena extended her arms out, sending me a look of gratitude. "Come on then, young man."_

 _Dimitri spun round. "_ Commander _, mama." He corrected._

 _Olena laughed. "I'm sorry,_ commander _."_

 _Dimitri grinned and I immediately felt bad._ He isn't going to let that drop _, I thought. He leaped over to his mother, stopping by a still unconscious Ibrahim. He leaned towards him and whispered in his ear: "I like her." He sprung towards his mama and grabbed her hand, taking the lead in pulling her up the stairs._

 _I sat on my own for a moment, contemplating the situation. I certainly hadn't expected to end up in a commune in the middle of Siberia within a year of my graduation, but as it was I was forced into reconsidering all I knew about the so-called 'communes'. Indeed, most of what I had heard through rumour and gossip was decidedly negative; the vague memory Tristan Drozdov's Christmas escapade sprung to my mind, which then made me think of Ibrahim. I cast a wary glance towards the man, slightly concerned I may have killed him. Yet, he seemed to be completely at peace: uncharacteristically void of conflict and analysis, just humble and...human. If it weren't for the now well-formed bruise under his jaw, I very much entertained the possibility of a smile. I doubted he'd be best pleased with me when he woke up, so I allowed myself to enjoy the moment where I just was allowed to be with him, without any of the complications. This was a bold move in my opinion, as the pleasure that I got just by simply 'being' with Ibrahim scared as much as it excited me. He was my charge: perhaps not by ceremony, but by circumstance which made any other... relationship completely inappropriate. He was my change, and I could not see him as anything else._

 _Yet he didn't make it easy - particularly now that I knew why we were here. I think travelling halfway around the world, in the middle of a life-threatening mission, to a tiny town in the middle of nowhere to help a friend with an abusive partner warrants a substantial degree of awe._

" _I am so sorry," Olena apologised upon reappearing. "Had I known you were coming, I can assure you I would have been better prepared." She blinked, remembering something. "Oh, and a lot less rude."_

 _I shook my head, attempting to calm to poor woman down. "No, no worries at all. I would be the same if I saw someone I didn't know with my child."_

 _Olena smiled gratefully, sitting down in the opposite armchair with considerable relief. "They are my world" Seeing my somewhat confused expression, she elaborated. "I have three: Dimitri is my second and I have two daughters, Karolina and Sonya."_

 _The unease returned: Olena couldn't have been more than twenty-six and if Dimitri was her second and he was around six, well…I could do the maths but dreaded to even contemplate any further. I couldn't imagine having a child at my age. But I pushed all thoughts aside and smiled. "They sound lovely."_

 _A glimmer of amusement graced her soft features. "They are, when they willingly go to bed."_

 _I laughed a little. "How often is that?"_

 _She smirked. "Perhaps it is a good thing my mother is around too." I chuckled, bringing the tea up to my lips and allowing the warm liquid to glide across my tongue. She paused and bit her lip. "I am so sorry - truly, if I knew you were coming-"_

" _It's alright." I interjected, wishing to spare this woman from any further discomfort. "I didn't really know I was coming either: it was a very much split second decision."_

 _She glanced over to Ibrahim and smiled. "Yes, he is like that. Always was, you know - him and Vincent." She looked away, tears tainting her kind eyes._

 _I really didn't know what to say. What could I say? I couldn't possibly begin to imagine what it is that she was going through and a generic 'it's okay' would probably do more harm than good._

 _So instead, I opted for a subject change. "You like cooking, right? Ibrahim made me your omelette and it was amazing."_

 _She turned back, the tears falling away from her eyes and she laughed. "Bless you, my dear. Yes, Abe always loved that omelette. If I'm honest, I didn't think it was that good."_

" _Oh, I can assure you it was."_

 _She laughed again. "Well then, I thank you, Janine. Perhaps I shall buy a few more eggs in the morning." She said with a wink._

 _I smiled my response. We stayed like that, talking for a while; whilst she kept it hidden, I could see an expression somewhat akin to relief underpinning her tone and her conversation. It was one thing I was completely certain of: Olena Belikova was a very good actor. As a Court Guardian, even if it was for only three months, and a both self-proclaimed and widely-established loner at St Vlad's, I had got very good at people watching; seeing the intricate subtleties that everyone tried to hide in the flashes and ghosted expressions of their features. But not Olena Belikova. She kept her emotions in check like no-one I had ever seen, to the point where my heart remained continually lurched when I looked at her kind and smiling features, with no trace of the horror that lay beneath._

 _Yet not even she could hide the fatigue under her eyes and, after making sure I was absolutely comfortable in the living room by covering my in quite possibly every blanket in Siberia, she retired up the stairs and the house fell silent. The only sound was that of the gentle chime of the wind against the outside drains and windows and the light click of the analogue clock on the mantelpiece. I made one last sweep of the room and then the floor, hoping Olena wouldn't mind too much as I readjusted and barricaded various entrance points and clearing room for exits. I placed the empty mug of tea into the sink and sank back down into my chair._

Flashes of the previous night flooded my vision as I remembered it all: Olena, Dimitri, _Ibrahim_. Even if he was being a bit of an arse at the minute, I still could not shake the awe I felt for him. The admiration ran deep, too deep: without really noticing, I had managed to place him on an unreachable pedestal and one that he could not leave. As he stood before me, I noticed everything: the way he stood with constant perfect posture; how he cleaned himself up with a crisp suit and a brush away from being completely clean-shaven; how his right little finger would remain naturally cocked in every situation; the flecks of gold in his dark, dark eyes; the way his lips rested somewhat parted whenever he wasn't talking or smirking. Everything about him radiated and emitted something that evoked my intrigue. If he was in the same room, I could not take my eyes of him.

And, good God, did it frighten me.

We stayed at the Belikova's for the most part of two days. After the slightly alarming conversation with Ibrahim, Dimitri had come pounding down the stairs and sat between Ibrahim and I, oscillating between us with his questions and requests for stories. Not long after, another small person jumped into the living room, this one a little girl. She looked a little older than Dimitri and was more hesitant when she saw me, but one look at Ibrahim and a sweeping grin stretched across her features and she run towards him, hopping onto his lap. Ibrahim embraced her immediately, addressing her by her name: Karolina. The spoke for a while in both English and Russian (Dimitri at this point scrunching his nose at his sister for interrupting his time with the Moroi) before Ibrahim reached into his new coat pocket and produced a beautiful silver necklace with a snowflake charm. Karolina beamed with excitement and cupped her hands together so that the chain could fall into her palms and remain as she slowly slid off Ibrahim's lap and tip-toed towards her mother, whom had come down the stairs carrying a smaller little girl (who I presumed was Sonya), to show her the gift. I had expected Dimitri to be a little jealous of the fact that his sister got a present and he did not, but he seemed completely unfazed by the notion and just continued to request more stories.

I smiled: help for Olena, jewellery for Karolina and stories for Dimitri. Ibrahim Mazur: the man was really something else...

As much as I would've liked to spend all day with the inquisitive little boy and his joyful sister, it was a weekday and thus they were expected at school. Given the somewhat bizarre nature of my life over the past few weeks, the sudden return to reality in the phrase "Dimitri, get your coat: you'll be late" took me by surprise perhaps a little more than it should've. Just before the elder children left, an even older woman emerged from the upstairs. She cast a somewhat strained glance towards me, smiled and took the hand of Dimitri who had been asking me about guarding techniques at the Royal Court.

"Come on, young man," she said to him, her accent thick but her English clear, "This one is not for you."

I frowned at the statement, but if Dimitri found it odd, he hid it well. Giving me a little wave before bounding out the door with his sister and the older woman.

"Yeva Belikova," Ibrahim informed as he caught my gaze fixed on the departing woman. "She has that effect on people." he said with a wink. I couldn't help the smile and my eyes flicked towards the gentle creases in his cheeks that formed when he smirked as he would so often.

Olena stayed with us most of the day, offering to show us round the town. Given their prior relationship, I felt that the offer was more for me than it was Ibrahim, but he seemed more than willing to tag along. In fact, I'd go as far to speculate that the effect extended to Olena too who, with her youngest daughter toddling in front of her, seemed to be regaining a genuine contentment back into her worn features. For me, it was quite the education: I realised that everything I knew or had been told, either through institution or rumour, bore little resemblance to the actual reality. Baia was, for all intents and purposes, a beautiful little community in the isolated heart of Russia.

"How long have you lived here?" I asked as we walked through the streets.

Olena responded, shrugging a little, "Since I was a child - I had moved away and travelled for a bit when I was sixteen. That's when I met Randall." she explained.

I winced. "I am sorry."

"No," she shook her head. "It is no-one's fault, but my own. I used to believe I loved him, with that I could justify all that he did. It is a powerful thing, you know: love. It wasn't until I had Karolina and then Dimitri and Sonya that I really knew what it meant." she said, glancing towards her littlest girl.

"They are truly beautiful, Olena." Ibrahim interjected softly, his voice lighter and more tender than I had ever heard it. "And they are so fortunate to have you as their mama."

Olena smiled, leaning in towards her friend. "You always were the charmer." He chuckled and touched his temple to the top of her head before pulling back up again. Something caught Olena's eye causing her smile to deepen and she to wave towards the source. Both Ibrahim and I followed her gaze to see two people, a man and a woman, both Moroi, carrying boxes into a house. They waved back with a quick but friendly hello. "That's Alexander and his wife Xenia, they have just moved into the neighbourhood with their daughter, Oksana." Olena said. "Lovely family."

I noticed their lack of company and frowned. "No guardians." I observed out loud.

"Alas not: they're quite a luxury," Olena said.

"Don't I know it," I muttered, thinking back to the graduation ceremony and the sheer number of Guardians assigned to specific families or people of significance, and how the rest remained few and far between.

"Did you always want to be a Court Guardian?" Olena asked, turning to me.

I shook my head. "I had no idea what I wanted, if I am being honest: just that I wanted to be a guardian." Though I had fantasised with the idea of being Harriet's guardian, I knew better than to get my hopes up - particularly if my mother had anything to say on the matter, which (in this case) I highly suspect she did.

Despite my internal musings, I didn't miss the curious glance Olena cast towards Ibrahim before her attention was drawn to her daughter.

We left the following night. It was around nine o'clock according to the clock in Olena's mantelpiece; I had long since stopped checking my own watch having been subject to at least three different time zones in the past fortnight. Olena was officially rendered the nicest person in the world in her response to our sudden departure. She thanked us profusely, managing to pull both myself and Ibrahim into a hug consecutively, whispering something into the latter's ear. I could tell Ibrahim was reluctant to leave, clearly unsettled by the short duration of our stay, but we had heard word from Istanbul that Hamlet's operation had reached a suitable end and that we were now able to begin detangling La Luz base operations from the heart of Europe. Despite being on the other side of the continent, Vincent had managed to dig up some information in the time and had sent it over in an encrypted email to Hamlet for viewing when we got there.

Though getting there was to prove a little more challenging than anticipated.

"Guardian Hathaway," I looked up to instantly lock eyes with Ibrahim's deep brown iris'. "It appears my rouble supply has been significantly reduced since I arrived. Now, is this the work of a pickpocket or do you have another explanation?" He said, his face marked with unreadable indifference.

I bit my lip. _Shit_.

Seeing my reaction, he strained his features before giving up and allowing the laughter to take over. "Oh, Janine." he said with a chuckle.

I grimaced. "Sorry, I panicked."

"Well, you certainly made someone's day." he mused, pulled out his phone after handing the driver what little remained of his finances and began speaking fluently in Russian. We had managed to make it as far as Novosibirsk (again), whereupon the funding, or lack thereof, situation became apparent. Ibrahim appeared to be attempting to resolve the situation, but from my lack of understanding when it came to the Russian dialect, he could've have been ordering a pizza for I knew: it was then that I really began to curse the fact I spent most of St Vlad's beginner's Russian at the back napping. "Right, well, slight change of plans: I'm going to need to acquire some more funds, but the banks don't open until tomorrow. I don't particularly feel either the need nor the conviction for a shady, illegal remedy, which you will have undoubtedly many objections to…"

 _Too right_ , I thought.

"...so, we'll be staying here for the night."

I blinked. "Here?"

"Yes."

"On the pavement?" I couldn't resist.

Ibrahim rolled his eyes, but was grinning widely. "Come on," he said, offering me a hand up and then thinking better of it. I smiled and pushed myself up, slumping my bag over my shoulder and following the Moroi through the darkened streets of Novosibirsk. The hotel that I found myself walking into was not quite as good as the one in Istanbul, but not quite as bad as Michael's in Pennsylvania. There was a rather exhausted-looking lady stand behind the desk. She managed a smile and summoned the strength to lift her hand up to the top of the desk to give Ibrahim the room key, before it fell limply back down to the side. Ibrahim, unsurprisingly, was as charming and as charismatic as ever. I was beginning to slightly enjoy his ever-dependable charisma and unwavering ability to get in and out of just about every situation with just his words - even if they were in Russian.

"Oh, hallelujah." Both words slipped out involuntarily as I beheld the two single beds in the room.

I felt Ibrahim's smirk behind me. "I take it you are pleased."

I didn't reply, just flopped down onto the nearest bed. The crisp clean sheets felt soft and cool against my skin, I didn't even care that I had just come in from a chilly evening.

He laughed again, dumped his bags on a somewhere in my periphery, the exact location remained unknown as my face remained submerged in the soft, cotton sheets. "Since you won't be moving for while, I'll mention now that Croft has been in touch."

The sound of my boss' name was enough to make me lift my head and turn to face the Moroi, who had positioned himself on the lone chair in the room, lounging back and watching me intently. "Oh?" I replied.

"Indeed." he said. "Apparently, there has been a S.W.A.T. team both assembled and deployed, who are heading for Monterrey and another for Vancouver."

I fully sat up, turning around and crossing my legs. "Have they heard anything from the Court?"

Ibrahim shook his head. "No, but I think that solace should be taken in the fact that it might be because _Abuela_ doesn't know where they are."

I snorted. "Seems unlikely."

Ibrahim shrugged. "Terrorist groups are never as put together as they seem."

I considered for a moment. "Does Hamlet know what we are doing here?"

Ibrahim nodded. "He's been living in Istanbul for well over a decade and thus a valuable asset; in our trade, we are taught to learn a city in a week, so I wager he knows every nook and cranny."

"Almost too good to be true." I said, quirking a brow. Ibrahim mimicked me, but broke out into a wide grin. I rolled my eyes and then thought back to Baia, my mind drifting to Olena and her family. The humour left my face.

The ever perceptive Moroi who had been watching me anyway noticed the change and frowned. "Janine…"

I looked away, shaking my head. "It's nothing." Flashes of Randall's demonic grin shot through my mind and I felt the bile rising through my inners.

"Janine." He said definitely, evidently not letting this one slide.

Not appreciating the forceful authority in his tone, I stayed stubbornly silent.

He sighed. "Janine," his voice softened as he rose from the chair. The bed dipped with his weight, but as he valued his bodily parts, he stayed a good two metres away.

But his relative proximity was enough to break my stubborn plight. "How can she bear it?" I was convinced Vincent had given Ibrahim some mind-reading lessons because his eyes filled immediately with understanding. "I mean, to have to live with the fear that he can come back at any time and hurt her: to know _how_ he can hurt her?" Ibrahim stayed silent, realising that it was rhetorical and that I was venting. "And to remain that nice, that good. How? She covered it so well, but I could see it - the torment and horror. How can she just ignore it and then just go out and say hello to the new neighbours or take her children to school. _His_ children."

I felt his palms on my face as he cupped my cheeks, tenderly forcing me to look into his eyes. "They are hers. He was no more than a cog in their creation." His voice was soft, as it had been before, but there was an underlying pleading that hummed and ran like a gentle current of electricity through his words. "When you love someone, completely and truly, the pain and suffering once endured doesn't just go away, dissipating into nothing, but it is made just that bit more bearable. Olena loves her children and love will do that to you - help you see past it all."

"My mother never could."

I felt his hands retract and his eyes widened. I dropped my jaw, releasing just what I had let slip out...

 _Oh, shit._

* * *

 **Hello my dear comrades in Comrade :D**

 **So guess which budding writer had set aside loads of time to plough on through their story, but then hit an absolute dead end in the wonderful form of writers' block? Yeah... Alas, I do hope you enjoyed what I did manage to pry out; in truth, I am not overly pleased with this particular chapter, but hopefully it is okay :3 Indeed, we've got some more character building coming up, which is always fun for me :D**

 **On a side note, is Janine's mother ever mentioned in the books? I don't believe she is, but I could be mistaken as it has been a while. I had a sudden panic and was flicking through them all xD Either way, I hope no-one will mind, but I am forging my own character to her. I couldn't really imagine Janine having a particularly close relationship with her mother, given her lack of, or limited, mention in the books, so that's what I'm going with.**

 **Anyways, I hope you guys have had a good...uh...month? (How long!?) Blimey. Well, here's wishing you all the best and here's hoping for a speedy update xD**

 **Mariarty :D**


	16. Chapter 16

**Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Academy or anything surrounding it (but I do own this plot :D)**

 **Please Note: The first part of this chapter contains a flashback with reference to some content which some readers would rather not read/may find upsetting (non-consensual sex/rape). There is nothing explicit mentioned, but please, feel free to skip over to where it says JPOV where the story will continue from the previous chapter should you wish to avoid such content**.

* * *

 _18 Years Ago_

She stood by the tall, marble pillar; the night's cold wind catching the curls of her fiery hair and tugging them behind her. She could feel the fatigue within her stir, but was prompt in overcoming the encroaching wave of tiredness. _Not tonight_ , she thought. She could see the long, plaited braid of her charge through the open window, the rest of the slender Moroi hidden behind the draping curtains which, along with the stone wall and general edict, kept them apart. The soft hum of conversation had progressed to a rowdy hoard of giggling girls and shouting men. She rolled her eyes and turned away, sinking back into the shadows to keep her steadfast watch. Time had passed so slowly that evening, so slowly it had made her restless and uneasy. She could see the others, all boldly unmoving in the places as though they had all dared to test their courage and stared into the serpentine gaze of Medusa.

Perhaps it was worse that she knew them all - well, most of them at least: the Moroi she was protecting. Half a decade had seemed like quite long enough since graduation, so naturally a reunion needed to take place. Not that she was complaining; no, this is what she was meant for. This is what she had dreamed about her whole life: what she wanted to be more than anything in the world…

A Guardian.

She was thrilled by it all: the rush, the pride, the honour. Five years had done little to diffuse the joy she felt in waking up, knowing she had made it. She had got her dream, and it was only just the beginning. _They come first._ They would always come first, to the day she died. As simple as it was, there was denying the appealing structure and security that came from being part of the Guardianship community. She did not need parties, such as these, or pretty frocks or whatever it was that supposedly made people happy: she was a _Guardian._ Guardians were the heros: never backing away from anything. Always willing to help. She was a hero in the making - they would write stories about her: Elaine Hathaway - the greatest Guardian in the world. She could see it; her career was all to come. It was just all still, waiting to be lived.

The thought brought a smile to her lips, the chill of the night quickly forgotten as she refocused her mind on the world in front of her: ready for whatever could come at her.

A snap. A crack. A thud.

She turned. Her fingers dancing on the edge of her hilt as she edged towards the sound. Her muscles tensed and dipping her into an offensive stance, ready to attack at any moment. He staggered out, a man she had known all her life. She drew a breath and laughed a little, steeping back. He caught sight of her and waved, tumbling towards her. He said something, or at least tried: the words catching in his intoxicated state and coming about as an incomprehensible slur. She rolled her eyes and stepped towards him, placing her hand on his shoulder and pulling him towards the entrance to the party hall, back where he belonged. He stumbled, falling into her. She struggled under his weight, but pushed him back to his feat.

 _Pretty. So pretty._

She made to pull him back inside, but he stumbled again, laughing in her ear. She sat him down, walking evidently proving too much of a challenge, but as he landed on the cold stone steps, he grabbed her arm, pulling her down onto his lap. She jumped up, back to her feet. He laughed again, falling backward and off the steps to land on the damp grass beside them. Instinctively, she stepped towards him again, assessing his medical status in case he had damaged his head. He caught hold of her again and pulled her down on top of him. She tried to push herself back up, but he pushed he down onto the ground beside him and told her to look up.

She went rigid, holding his right arm down so that he could not move it, but he didn't seem to mind. She followed his gaze up to see the stars shining above them.

 _So pretty._

She smiled a little, taking a moment to admire. He sighed beside her and tilted his head, so immersed he was in liquor that she swore she could her the stuff moving in his head. Shaking her head, she made to push herself, and afterward him, back up, but as she sat, she hit the solid shins of another man. She had not known this one since infancy; she did not know him at all. The friend beside her widened his dazed eyes and rolled onto his front, crawling away. She tried to stand, but was pushed back down.

 _So pretty._

She jerked, kicking him away, which only angered him more. He advanced again. She said no. She said stop. But her words turned to dust as soon as the passed by her lips. He took not head. He came closer, pinning her down as she writhed underneath. She cried out, catching the eye of another Guardian as she begged for help. His glance lasted no more than a second, before he turned away and did nothing.

* * *

JPOV

Ibrahim was frozen, locked in an oscillating state of just about every emotion under the sun. His hands still hovered by my cheeks, their former warmth still lingered like a ghostly imprint and one which I wished to revive.

But I too was trapped in a cacophony of feeling, with fear prevailing over them all.

We stayed silent for what felt like a lifetime, but in reality was perhaps a mere second, before his voice broke the void. "Janine…" It was tender. It was soft. Like a lullaby by candlelight.

"I-..." I stuttered, finding myself incapable of any further sound.

But Ibrahim did not need any more and instead pulled me into his arms without really thinking it through. "I am so sorry. I should not have brought you."

I blinked from where my head found itself against his chest. "No, it's-..." I stuttered again, my voice catching in my throat. Clearing the hindrance, I looked up and tried again. "It is not your fault. Nor is it Olena's, please, know that." I wanted to make that abundantly clear. That poor woman needn't shoulder any blame in this. Whilst what had happened to my mother was horrible, at least she never saw the man again. I had asked her about it once, when I was old enough to understand and she in a rare moment of approachability. She had merely shrugged, told me of a rumour she had heard that he ODed somewhere outside of the Court's reach before her walls had reformed and she had pushed me out. I suppose I couldn't really blame her for her coldness: I was, after all, the unwanted product of an event rather forgotten, my very presence serving as a consistent reminder for her. I could see it, in her eyes; a dark and unpleasant flash that drove her to turn away.

Yet the image of my mother's disgust was replaced by Ibrahim once again placing against the curve of my cheek, bringing my attention back from where it had spiraled into the depths of my memory. "I cannot begin to comprehend what it must feel like, for either you or your mother, but know if you ever, and I truly mean _ever_ , need someone to listen: I am right here. I will always be right here."

And I believed him, entirely. Swallowing back the lump in my throat, I tilted my head a little into his right palm. He did nothing to stop me. "It destroyed her - _I_ destroyed her. She had a whole plan for her life, and it was just shattered by one thing that she had no control over."

His thumb so gently stroked the side of my cheekbone that I doubted he even knew it was happening. "Plans rarely work, in my experience."

I laughed a little. "Don't say that: we are mid-plan at the minute." There was no conviction in my tone, just a lingering sense of desperation as I tried to lighten and relieve my own dark and dismal mood, and rid myself of the continual stream of imagined images of not only my mother, but Olena too.

Ibrahim quirked a brow. "Remind me, where are we now?"

His lips had quivered into an upward smile; the dimples as side of his face hinting at the smirk that lay beneath. "Touché, Mazur." I conceded and the smirk was let loose. My face fell again as new thoughts surfaced in my mind. I closed my eyes, but remind held between Ibrahim's hands. "Ibrahim," I said, his Christian name slipping out over the usual formal address, "may I ask a favour of you?"

He, still holding my cheeks, his thumb strokes becoming more and more consistent and rhythmic. "Anything, Janine."

"Please could you not tell anyone about this." I didn't specify the 'anyone', but the subtext was there.

He looked surprised. "They do not know?"

I shook my head, the act causing my cheekbones to rub against the smooth palms of his hands. No-one knew. Well, no-one was _supposed_ to know, but like pretty much everything in his life, Ibrahim was the exception.

He held back his tongue, electing to instead just smile and nod. Coming closer, he brushed his lips against my forehead, pausing there for a second before pulling back, retracting his hands and wandering towards the bathroom. I followed him with my gaze, remarkably indifferent to what had just happened: as though it was nothing.

As though it was the most normal thing in the world.

* * *

APRIL 22nd PM 18:45

114 IsBPO - 001RylCPO/PENNSYLVANIA

WARNING -(STOP)- ZEBRA IN ARCTIC SEA -(STOP)- BLANKSHOT FOR 13 WEEKS AT RACECAR -(STOP)- REQUEST FLAT-TYRE -(STOP)-

* * *

"My goodness: Abe Mazur."

" _To be, or not to be?_ Wilt thou ever decide?"

The middle-aged man dressed in a black cassock with a greying tint in his dark, brown hair yet still withholding his youthful facial complexion with the smoothness of his skin and the brilliance of his blue eyes smiled wholly. "Mercifully, I have a faith to decide for me."

Ibrahim smirked. "I am not sure that is what it is for."

Hamlet laughed and took Ibrahim's hand, shaking it with such formality it distorted the original amiable welcome. "Good to see you again, Abe. Do, come in." He said, inviting us both in, but I wasn't entirely convinced that my presence had gone noted. I grimaced, but reminded myself that Hamlet had no reason to show me any courtesy.

 _They can't all be like Ibrahim._

I blinked, but had no time to process the thought as the sound of Harriet's glee had manifested into physical embracement. "Janine! Oh my God, I am so happy to see you!"

I chuckled from within her grasp. "I was only gone three days - was Emyl really that bad?"

She pulled back and gave me a glare. "Don't start."

I frowned and then remembered the actual reason I went with Ibrahim to Russia. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that."

She didn't look convinced, but let it go anyway. "Well, I'm so glad you are here."

The frown returned. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said with slight unease. "It's just, Hamlet - he gives me the creeps."

My frowned deepened. Harriet was the one person I knew who could find good in Hitler, so on the rare occasion she couldn't, I got very nervous. However, like any good Scot, I masked my concern with wit. "So you're not glad to have me back, you're glad to have Ibrahim back so he can keep the creepy priest busy…?" I quirked a brow.

She narrowed her eyes, but the humour gleamed through her lashes. "As if I'd ever want that!" she said in mock protest. "Also, he's a reverend, not a priest."

"Aren't they the same?" I said thinking back to our rather basic introduction to world religion.

Harriet shrugged and hooked her arm through my own. "No idea, but let's try not and offend the man."

I rolled my eyes and allowed her to guide me into the sitting room. I caught Emyl's gaze and nodded. He returned it with a small smile before my attention was drawn elsewhere.

"Ah, Hathaway. Nice of you to join us." I jumped as I saw the face of Guardian Croft projected onto the wall above the mantlepiece. Behind him stood Ruth and a few other guardians I had seen about Court, most of them at the Ivashkov party. Drew was notably absent from the crowd, but I was sure that was by design.

"Afternoon, sir." I said.

His eyes flicked from the documents in front of him. "Morning for us, I'm afraid. Glad to see you are all in one piece."

"Have there been any reports on the other supply bases?" Emyl asked, stepping in beside me.

Croft dropped the paper in front of him, bringing his arms behind his head and leaning back on them. "Indeed, Vancouver was a success, but Monterey is proving a little more of a pain, according to Harrison through a variety of interesting metaphors."

I couldn't help but smile. "Have you heard anything from Court?"

The colour drained from his face quicker than I had time to finish my question. I could see Harriet's whole form tense at the fear-filled faces that were projected in front of us. "I think perhaps-"

"What did you see?" Harriet cut him off.

Croft bit his lip and leaned forward. "We were sent films..."

Emyl and I shared a look of understanding and I could see that Ibrahim and Hamlet also had caught on. But Harriet, as ever, remained innocent. "What, _Finding Nemo?_ What are you talking about?" She snapped.

Croft clasped his hands in front of him and rested his chin on top. "They have started killing hostages."

Harriet's face plummeted. "No…" her lip trembled and her body started to shake. I cast my gaze away, unable to bear it. Emyl sat himself down on the arm of the floral sofa and buried his face his palm. "M-my mother?"

"Julia Conta was not one of the victims, but is still unaccounted for." Croft said as gently as he could.

Harriet bit her lip and nodded, her eyes overflowing with tears that cascaded down her cheeks. "Okay. That's okay. Well, it's not, but…" she swallowed. "Excuse me." she strode out the room. Emyl made to stand up, but froze as he tore himself between Harriet and the mission. Ibrahim, noticing this fight, wandered from where he stood, placed a hand on Emyl's shoulder and exited to find Harriet. Emyl sat back down and his face fell into indifference as Croft began speaking again.

"We think we had a leak."

I frowned. "Had?"

Croft nodded. "Still have, in all likelihood. This _Abuela_ had my number directly and, whilst remaining irritably anonymous," he said gritting his teeth a little, "all contact and methods they have adopted have been too...precise."

"They are good at what they do." Hamlet stated. "One of the best I know of, and I needn't go into how that assessment came to be."

Croft shook his head. "No, no-one is this accurate. Mistakes are always made, particularly when you attack a highly controlled and militarised space, like the Royal Court. They had inside help and I believe that that is continuing."

Emyl raised his head. "A resident of Court?"

Croft nodded. "Yes. And, for want of sounding a little self-assured, it also has to be someone connected with me or my team, given the direct link that _La Luz_ appears to have with myself." I found my eyes drifting to Ruth. She shared my worried expression but hid it well.

"That's still quite a lot of people." Emyl said. "How do you know it was not a team member directly."

"I don't." Croft said. "Considering the dhampir involvement in the actual attack, no-one is above suspicion. For that, I have scattered them, and only Gwynn here knows of my concerns. Save yourself, Hathaway." Ruth and I shared another look.

"What makes you so sure of them?" Hamlet inquired, looking between us.

"Gwynn hasn't left my sight after I have subpoenaed most of her modes of contact and I highly doubt a double agent would go so far as to make a whole trip to Russia on the mild whim of a slightly psychotic Moroi." I raised my head at his assessment of myself.

"Thanks." I said sarcastically.

"Well, Abe is definitely psychotic." Hamlet said, giving me an amused look.

I elected not to return it. "So you think the leak is someone in at the sanctuary?"

Croft pondered for a moment. "Maybe, maybe not. We were, after all, able to shut down Vancouver."

"Good point."

Croft inhaled deeply, before leaning forward again to pick up the pile of documentation in front of him. "I have compiled a list of everyone and anyone, Moroi or Dhampir, who had contact with either myself or a member of the team. I've sent over the digital copy."

Hamlet moved from his initial stance towards one of the three computers in the room, typing away at the keyboard to bring up the aforementioned digitalised list. "Blue notation means that they are here at St Catherine's, but red means they are unaccounted for. I have tried to narrow down the list, but I think we should start…" and on he went, explaining how we would go about culling this long list of names, but it didn't matter:

One name had already caught my eye…

' _Si queremos hacer esto, lo hacemos esta noche.'_

One name in a million...

' _Tenemos que hacer esto esta noche - no habrá otro oportunidad'_

One name stood out above the rest…

' _Oh, those bastards won't know what's hit them!'_

How had I been so stupid? In all that had passed between now and the Ivashkov party - the event that had kicked it all off - it had never occurred to me to look back. All those tiny, missable but impossibly significant details that you see and forget until it is too late.

Sergey Kravitz…

The man whose only crime I could fathom was bringing one Alistar Kravitz into existence, yet that was nothing in comparison to what I now knew. Those phone calls. Those _spanish_ colleagues. How had I not seen it? Made the connection sooner? His name shone like the stars in the sky.

 _Or the moon._

Even now, Ibrahim still managed to consume my thoughts. With my attention directed to the weeks before the Ivashkov party, I remembered the day I tackled him in the night; how he had told me the moon outshone the stars. Even with everything going on, he still outshone them all. He was my moon. My light in the night.

"Jenny…?"

Before that realisation could sent me into a full seizure, and one which the rather large audience around me could pick up on, I deflected, desperately trying to focus my mind on the case at hand. "It's him. Sergey Kravitz."

Emyl did a double take, returning to the list to locate his name. Croft looked very surprised. "Are you sure? That was awfully quick."

I could feel the bile rising and my stomach clenching. _God_ I wanted out of there. _Ibrahim get out of my head!_ "I saw him. More than once, before the attack. He was on the phone, in spanish, discussing an event that was scheduled to happen on that night. I can only apologise for not mentioning it sooner," The cold formality with which I had spent all my school years working on and Ibrahim had managed to wear down within a few weeks slipped back with eerie smoothness.

Emyl shot me a sympathetic look, while Croft just brushed it off. "No, Hathaway, yu're right - his profile does show connection with a Hispanic organisation. The details notably shady." he said, his eyebrows raised.

"We could get Charles to run his background. He does love to dig into people's lives." Hamlet offered, a lick of bitterness coming out over his last comment.

Croft pondered, considering for a moment. "As productive as that sounds, wouldn't it be easier to do it from where you are now, rather than employing the aid of a third party a considerable distance away; the chances of interception are then substantially reduced the less we transfer this information."

Hamlet nodded. "This is correct, and I understand the concern, but on balance, if we still want a chance of cutting off their European supply, we need to remain as anonymous as possible; poking around a possible member so close to their Istanbul base is unfortunately going to raise a few too many eyebrows."

"And besides," I jumped at the sound of Ibrahim's voice, but kept my head turned, genuinely convinced that I might have gone into cardiac arrest if I actually saw him. "Charles will do quite possibly anything to avoid his slightly less charming relations."

Hamlet glanced behind me to Ibrahim. "Cousin Rupert, I take it."

"Indeed."

Hamlet grimaced. "Yes, rather unpleasant fellow, but I suppose we all must bear our crosses. We are taught to love our neighbours, but I think we should be perhaps thankful that this one is a good few metaphoric streets away."

Such was its enormity, I could feel Ibrahim's smirk.

"Ahem, could I possibly get us back on track." Croft said, clearing his throat and evidently holding little patience for the foreboding exchange of wit between the Turk and the Reverend. "We'll get this Charles…"

"Windsor." That did it. I couldn't help myself, I turned around to look at Ibrahim, raising a cool eyebrow at his smirking face.

"Seriously?" I said, quiet enough that Croft wouldn't hear.

He shrugged. "He is very English."

I shook my head and turned back to the projection, Croft seemingly taking no notice of what was happening as he scribbled down presumably the name onto the paper in front of him, clearly lacking in knowledge about the current British monarchy. "Right, I shall make contact with Windsor and keep you updated. Once we shut down their supply chains, we shall have hopefully weakened them enough to launch an attack and reclaim the Court."

"Do we know if the Queen is still in there?" Emyl said, resuming his position with his arms crossed against his chest.

Croft nodded. "Yes." he paused for a moment. "Is Miss Conta in the room?"

My whole body tensed as my head jerked up to meet his eyes. "No. Why?" Gone was the formality and all that remained was short, sharp sounds.

"Nothing like that, Hathaway. The films we have been sent show the terrorists executing officials - people of importance in the political world. Thankfully, Julia Conta is not one of them, but this shows a strategy."

" _La Luz_ do have a strong political agenda," Hamlet said, "What they lack in mercy, they make-up for in tact. Not that that is any justification."

Croft nodded. "They want us to submit."

"Relinquish." Ibrahim corrected. "Their goal is not the power, though I suppose that is a welcome reward - they want you to relinquish the old regime and to plunge it into oblivion."

"Vengeful anarchists," Hamlet mused.

Ibrahim nodded. "They care little of the consequences of their actions, or what comes next. It is why they were, until recently, so small."

I looked towards him. "Then their agenda has changed."

Ibrahim's smirk died down into something softer, something sadder as he nodded. "Revenge and anger are powerful motivators, but not enough to rally an army - people are selfish and self-interested: if there is nothing for them, nothing that they can out of something, then what is the point?"

We left it there; signing off with Croft, I made my escape as soon as his picture vanished from the wall. I could visualise the frown on Ibrahim's face, the furrow of his eyebrows toward a small crease on his brow, as I walked out with no word. No matter what I did, I couldn't get him out of my head; it was like nothing I knew - as though he sent my entire brain into overdrive. Hate. Fear. Irritation. Joy. Respect. Envy. Wonder. Everything, every emotion in me, was heightened in a volatile mix that changed with erratic spontaneity. I both could not stand him and longed to be around him. It was infuriating! Yet also relaxing…? I was a living paradox and one that could very much get me killed if I didn't sort myself out quickly.

I decided a policy of distraction was in order. Since Croft had naffed off, I went to go see my wounded friend. _Oh Harriet._ I think it is perhaps one of the saddest things to witness the gradual deterioration of happiness, of innocence, of hope, in a person. Particularly if that person was your best friend. Harriet Conta was and is, to this day, the best person I knew and I could not bear to see her so upset.

I made to find her, but quickly found myself lost. For a man of the church, Hamlet's house was remarkably well funded. I suppose, his other 'career' working with Abe, Vincent and the much loathed _le renard_ kept his paycheck considerably well stocked; I hadn't seen where Ibrahim lived, but judging by his never ending supply of perfectly tailored suits, I could well imagine it would look something like this. Yet contrary to the expense, Hamlet's home was pleasantly...modest. Sure, you could see the value in everything around you, but the comfortable atmosphere it evoked did not make you worry about touching it in case it suddenly broke. I quite liked it, if I'm honest. Hamlet himself, I was still a little wary of. I had only just met him, but I could see where Harriet was coming from. There was a sinisterness about the man, hidden away underneath his charm.

 _The middle ground between Charles and_ renard.

I don't think Ibrahim's description of him had helped. Nonetheless, I didn't have to like him, or even trust him completely, to get the job done. He was a valuable asset.

I halted in my tracks. Did I really just reduce a man to the status of an _asset_? Dear Lord, Ibrahim was rubbing off on me and in ways that I just didn't like. I should have stayed away. Damn it, why couldn't he have listened to me during the attack?

 _But then he would be dead._

I shook off that thought and pressed on through the corridor until I saw the outline of my friend in the reflection of a window. Entering the room, her brilliant eyes met mine, watered and sparkling from the tears she had let loose.

I smiled softly, my own inner turmoil dissipating into nothing. "Hey."

She returned it. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"No, it's okay." I said, coming to sit next to her on the bed.

She looked down at her hands as they fiddled with the hem of her shirt. "Do you think she is okay?"

I paused for a moment, wondering best how to answer before landing upon the one thing I endeavoured to alway do with Harriet: honesty. "I cannot say. Croft thinks she may be spared as they are only targeting political leaders and officials."

Harriet nodded. "Those poor people."

"Perhaps it is a mercy: I think I'd rather be dead than be alive, but constantly taunted with death." I said putting myself in the shoes of the captives. I saw Harriet smile and I frowned up at her. "What?"

"Nothing it's-" she stopped herself biting her lip to control her spreading smile and encroaching giggle. I glared at her a little and she relented. "It's just, that's what Ibrahim said."

I laughed a little, shaking my head. _Of course he did_. "You're not still on that, are you?" I asked, already knowing the answer.

She smiled. "I gives me a little bit of levity." she said with a shrug. I sighed, flopping back on the bed. Perhaps it was a little hypocritical to tell her the truth about everything except this; though, in my defense, I wasn't entirely sure what _this_ was. For all I knew, it was some head trauma or infection or a psychological consequence of a sudden loss of blood. My fingers traced the scars on my palm where his teeth had sunk in. I was brought out of my thoughts when Harriet lay alongside me, looking up towards the ceiling. "Do you remember when we were younger and used to lie on the field, gazing at the stars when we were supposed to be in class?"

I smiled. "Russian lit, was it not?"

She giggled. "I don't think Guardian Morris ever liked us."

I scoffed. "I don't think he liked anyone. Do you remember when he kicked Lisa Torbet out for asking why we couldn't read _Animal Farm_ instead, because it was 'technically' about Russia?"

She laughed. "Poor Lisa."

"She was a bitch."

"Janine!"

"Oh come on," I said, glancing towards her, "You know she was. She put laxatives in Morwenna Balan's low-fat smoothie because Oscar asked her to that stupid May Ball."

"That was a little unfair."

"A provoked sudden evacuation of the bowels mid-presentation to the whole year is not unfair, it is cruel." I said flatly.

Harriet giggled. "Speaking from experience there?"

I scowled. "Thankfully no, but in front of your gym class is embarrassing enough."

"Well you shouldn't have tied me to the the roof while I was still sleeping." I propped myself up on my elbows to see Emyl smirking at the door. Harriet buried her face in the pillow to conceal her laughter. I stuck my tongue out towards Emyl and he chuckled, walking into the room, shoving both me and Harriet along and lying next to us on the bed. The three of us lay there, side by side, looking up at the ceiling, each with childish grins on our faces like we had just got away with sticking a whoopee-cushion under the teacher's chair.

"Hamlet is loaded." Emyl said.

My grin increased. "How can you tell?"

He chuckled. "Perhaps it has something to do with the remake of the Sistine Chapel above us." he said gesturing towards the ceiling.

"Michelangelo really went all out here." I said, biting my lip.

"And just for a guest room, that is commitment from the painter." Emyl said.

I could feel Harriet's eyeroll. "He was a sculpture and this looks nothing like the Sistine Chapel." she said frankly to which Emyl and I burst out laughing. Harriet jabbed me with her elbow which only made me laugh more, and for a moment I forgot: I forgot I was in Istanbul about it embark on a life-threatening task of disassembling a highly fortified, terrorist supply base; I forgot that the world as I knew it was on the verge of implosion; I forgot about my own personal implosion regarding a certain Moroi. For a moment I was back at St Vlads, with the two people I considered as my best friends, my family, just laughing away another day, preparing for the worst which deep down we didn't believe would happen. For a moment I forgot.

For a moment, I was happy.

* * *

 **Hello my dear comrades in Comrade,**

 **HAPPY NEW YEAR! Whoo, 2017 has finally landed. I really hope you had a wonderful New Year and indeed Christmas too. You will be pleased to hear that I have done absolutely no homework over the Christmas break and therefore will almost guarantee the rest of my day finishing my history coursework xD Regardless though, I am so exciting for this story again – you know when you first come up with an idea and then go, 'huh, that's not bad' and then build a story from there? Well, we are approaching the foundation of this story and I am quite excited to get there :D In actuality, most of this has just been me making it up as a go along xD Drew, Ruth and Vincent were never in my first plan and just kinda evolved as I went along, but I'm glad I did because they are quite fun to write for.**

 **So what did ya think? I'd love to know as we're getting back on plot and the mystery is unfolding... (muhahaha) xD**

 **Here's wishing you all the very best,  
Mariarty **


	17. Chapter 17

**Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Academy or anything surrounding it (but I do own this plot :D)**

JPOV

The ground hurt beneath my feet, each step adding to the burn just that little bit more as the cobbled-ridges dug on my soles. The sun had dipped down below the roofs, peeking out only between the buildings and igniting the dark alleys. The city was layered in gold like a shimmering fog, a mist at dawn. But the sun was going down and the city was darkening; all the joys of the day were slowing being edged out as the shadows crept it. Dusk was approaching yet the unsuspecting natives remained ignorant to the encroaching colonists. I tightened the scarf around my neck, the fabric concealing my pasty, Scottish complexion and hiding my bright ginger hair. The curls were tied back into a tight bun and the scarf ran over it, keeping me a shadow in the crowd.

The city was still alive - still beating like a steadfast heart in battle. The soft rumble of conversation hummed around me with a sense of comfort found in clinking glasses at candle-lit dinners mixed with an eerie sense of foreboding. I continued to walk down the street, the cobbles digging into my already worn feet, keeping my head down, but raised enough to be a constant state of surveillance.

" _How's it looking, Jenny_?" the familiar tone that complemented Emyl's deep voice was heightened amidst the foreign Turkish atmosphere.

"Clear." I said, the feeling of my scanning eyeballs was almost robotic in its nature as I took in the area around me like a steadfast security camera: capturing anything and everything.

" _Have you got a visual on Mazur"_ In my preherfery I could see the Moroi, dressed in his usual style of an over-expensive suit with scarf (even Hamlet had shaken his head at the sight of his colleague after he had pulled the thing out of a locked chest in the living room) a few metres behind me, speaking in fluent Turkish to the trader in the street: a man around his mid-thirties, 5"7", lanky build, limp on left foot.

"Affirmative." I affirmed, stepping out of the main flow of people and into the darkened sidelines. Laughter caught my attention and I saw the trader in a fit of hysterics, Ibrahim silently smirking in front of him. I rolled my eyes and shifted the frequency on my radio, "Try to stay on task." I said.

From where I stood, I saw his smirk grow. His eyes pulling away from the now crying man and found mine. With one quick wink, he returned to the trader as if nothing had happened. I flipped the radio back.

Ten minutes later, we were on the move again.

" _Two o'clock, male, white shirt, navy trousers."_ I shifted my gaze to the location, still mindful of Ibrahim walking steadily behind me. The man was pale. Too pale. I tensed, hand tensing around my stake, its surface warmed in the dipping evening sun. I flicked my eyes to find that great ball of fire, but only a slender spark remained. The city couldn't care less as the streets remained as lit and as lively as ever, but nature was giving in to the darkness. I felt my heartbeat in my ears; the steady pulse blocking out the world and rendering all its noise mute. My gaze was latched, hooked, on that man, my feet edging through the crowd towards his fickle frame. My fist tightened. He shifted, his eyes met mine. I froze, stopping just before...he vomited in front of me.

I sighed, unclenching my fist. The man remained hunched over himself, his decidedly brown eyes remaining pinned to the ground as the nearby waiter shouted instructions in rapid Turkish into the adjacent restaurant. "False alarm." I said into the radio. Behind, I could see Ibrahim frown over at the situation, clearly having noted my change in direction and exposure of my now re-concealed stake. He wandered over to him, my heartbeat increasing with every step, and handed him a tissue. I sighed again, scowling a little at the Moroi in question who shot me a devious smirk.

 _Bastard._ I thought and gestured for him to get a move on. Quite frankly, it was a real trial not to go back there a slap him. Thankfully my ability to resist a veritable degree of temptation remained steadfast. Granted, it wasn't exactly the apple to my Eve, however the desire lay there all the same.

We made our way back towards Hamlet's home; both Emyl and Ibrahim remained in my periphery until breaking away to enter the house through the three possible entrances. Always keeping distant, no-one would suspect we had anything to do with each other. I stepped over my threshold and let out a sigh of relief. The exhaustion of my feet now flowing through my entire being as if it had entered my bloodstream or being zapped through synapses in frantic electric bolts. I heard a light laughter from the main sitting room which perked my attention. Brushing my feet on the mat on sheer instinct, I set off in search of the familiar sound. Such was its familiarity, I felt myself drawn to it as though it were water in the desert: to hell if it was just a mirage of what I knew, I needed it.

I found Harriet sitting on the floor, surrounded with sheets of paper, screens and a whole array of other mismatched items and modes of literature. She was grinning up at the reverend, who himself was positioned with his lengthy legs crossed and facing towards her, at the table. Over the past couple of days, Harriet's opinion of Hamlet had shifted - he had grown on her, earning not only her true kindness, but also her trust. And it seemed to go both ways. It was not hard to like Harriet, but the shared faith that they had perhaps added to her appeal.

Our mission was now in full swing. Not wanting to put Harriet in unnecessary (or even necessary, if I'm honest) danger, and with Hamlet used to working in the shadows, the pair of them had spent their time filing through any and all information that the still unnamed organisation that Hamlet, Ibrahim, Vincent and _la renard_ were a part of had on _La Luz_ and indeed any trafficking groups operating within Istanbul. Apparently, there were quite a few. More than I certainly expected. Such as it was, I could physically feel my world-view changing in those moments and I didn't like it. That is not to say I was naive, holding on to the idea that everything is good and wonderful really. No, far from it. But, I would've liked to have imagined that it wasn't _this_ bad.

To add insult to injury, most of what we had was useless. Heart-wrenching, but useless. With Hamlet and Harriet, along with Vincent when we could get a hold of him, investigating leads, the rest of us chased them up. Out of the four members we had met, Ibrahim was the clear leg-worker of the group, so quite comfortably slotted into his role as subtle interrogator, whilst myself and Emyl covered him on all grounds, alternating near and far and position in relation to him. I wasn't too pleased with the idea of leaving Harriet, not just on account of Hamlet, but alone altogether. Emyl was even less thrilled. However, Hamlet's defense system, as it turned out, was terrifying, even to me. Safe to say, even negating the protection of God, no-one was getting in without Hamlet's say so: terrorist, Strigoi or otherwise.

"Ah, Abe, how'd it go?" Hamlet said as Ibrahim sauntered into the room, eyeing the soft couch, walking with intent towards it and plonking down.

"So-so," Ibrahim replied before glancing toward my figure in the door, "Are you alright there, Janine?"

"Hmm?" I blinked, "Oh, yeah, sorry: blanked out." I said, entering in, gazing towards the empty seat next to Ibrahim on the couch, but resolving to stand in the end.

I'm not sure he believed me for Ibrahim paused for a minute, but continued as he knew I wasn't about to develop that any further. "There doesn't appear to be much in the way of large-scale, but Ahmed knows a few transactions are in the air at the minute; a certain 'buzz' is afoot, apparently." Ibrahim said, turning his attention to Hamlet.

The reverend smiled. "God bless him, he alway was very poetic. You think _La Luz_ would be so public in their affairs?"

Ibrahim shrugged. "I'm inclined to disagree, but ruling anything out would be a sure sign of foolishness."

"We might want to tone it down a bit," Emyl, having just arrived at the doorway between the kitchen and the sitting area, leaning on the frame just behind Hamlet figure, said. "We were being watched."

"We?" I asked.

"Well, him." Emyl corrected, nodding towards Ibrahim.

"By who?" Ibrahim asked, leaning forward to rest his stubbled chin against the flats of his knuckles.

"There was a man, about mid-twenties, blonde. He kept appearing on our track. I don't think he spotted us," he said gesturing between him and myself, "but he was definitely interested in you."

Ibrahim nodded. "We must tread carefully. There is a chance it is merely coincidental, but even if he is not part of _La Luz_ , there is an equal probability that he is part of another gang."

 _Great._ I thought and, if Ibrahim's smirk was anything to go by, he heard.

"Has Croft been back in touch?" I asked.

Harriet shook her head. "No, no word." she said, biting her lip a little. I could well guess where her mind was taking her.

"Maybe Mexico is proving a little more tricky." Emyl said, jumping in to spare her thoughts.

"Particularly if Drew is involved." I added, grinning a little and causing her to smile.

 _Thank you_ , she mouthed.

A vibration told Hamlet that something had come through and he turned to look at the screen. "Ah, Charles appears to have found something."

We all perked up. "Kravitz?" Ibrahim asked.

A smile grew across Hamlet's features. "He's found a connection: Kravitz appears to have been in contact with one _Señor Guerra_."

"Apt." Emyl said, with a smirk. I shook my head.

"Indeed, Guerra was in Istanbul on, and I quote, 'business', in the past couple of months." Hamlet said.

Ibrahim snorted, "That's a euphemism if ever there was one. Pray tell, is he still here?"

Hamlet brow furrowed as he inspected the screen before him. Taking out a pair of spectacles, he edged his face closer. "Honestly, it's like he does this on purpose."

"I can assure you, he does." Ibrahim said with a wink.I cast him a stern look as I sensed an in-joke was looming which would get us right of task. Ibrahim's smirk lowered and he bowed his head respectively.

"Ah, there it is. Yes, he is here. Oh and would you look at that." Hamlet said with significant surprise in his voice.

"What?" Emyl said.

"He's not staying at the Ritz is he?" Ibrahim asked, a note of disbelief in his tone.

"Presidential suit." Hamlet replied, leaning back.

Ibrahim rolled his eyes. "Excellent," he said arising.

Harriet frowned. "You're not going now, are you?" she said, looking towards the clock.

Hamlet cocked a brow towards Ibrahim, but he remained completely at ease. "Why of course. We can't take any chances, he could be gone by tomorrow. Besides, I make it time for dinner and any self-righteous terrorist would, of course, be enjoying today's catch of the day."

Emyl chuckled from where he stood and moved to go with the Moroi. "No rest for the wicked, huh."

"Indeed, though the 'wicked' in this case will be lacking in your charming self." Ibrahim replied.

"Sorry?" Emyl said, frowning.

"You are not going there by yourself." I stated, both clearly and authoritatively. The last thing I needed was to worry about some rabid terrorist sticking a fish-fork into Ibrahim's throat which, given the motivation and Ibrahim's general demeanor, was highly probable.

Ibrahim merely smiled. "Why, then I thank you for volunteering your services."

"What's wrong with Emyl?" I challenged, not noticing the bite in Harriet's lip nor the smirk on Hamlet's. Emyl too had a look of puzzlement about him, but with an undertone of offense.

Ibrahim remained indifferent. "As exceptional as Guardian Burlatsky here is, the situation requires a bit of subtlety - a facade. And, while I daresay my acting skills are rather well developed, they do have their limitations."

A flash of understanding came upon Emyl's naturally placid features and he nodded a little. Me, still lost. "What are you talking about?"

"Guardian Hathaway, we are going on a date."

* * *

It took me a moment, but eventually I came back around from the blinding shock that was that sentence to retort with one of my own. "Excuse me?"

"It is the most logical plan," Hamlet said before Ibrahim could, "The restaurant to the Ritz is open to the public-" he paused and reconsidered, "well...the richer half, that is." I pursed my lips and clenched my jaw, not liking this one bit. "You'll have to play along for about half an hour, an hour max. Just so you blend in, before locating Guerra, then Ibrahim here will initiate a questioning." Hamlet explained like it was just popping down the street for some milk, though with all the shit going on right now, popping out for some milk could well be comparable to a undercover mission into a terrorist sect.

Getting irritated with my brain as it continually stopped my attempts to think of a way out of this situation, I sighed. Ibrahim, still standing casually in front of me like there was nothing wrong with this (though from his perspective, nothing probably was), locked his gaze with mine. "So, Guardian Hathaway: will you go out with me?"

I glared at him and sighed again. "Superficially."

Ibrahim grinned. "Good enough, come on." he said, striding out of the room.

I blinked after him. "Wait, _right_ now?"

Ibrahim didn't even turned around. "I'd refer you to Miss Conta, who had a similar question earlier on."

I glared at him again.

Harriet's slight giggle from behind resulted in the glare being directed at her, though she did not seem to mind. "Janine!" I heard him call.

Exhaling loudly, I marched out of the room in the direction he went. "Is this how you treat all your dates?" I snarked.

His head poked out of a doorway and made me jump. He smiled. "Only the superficial ones."

"Oh, ha ha." I mocked wandering into the room after he gestured me in. I gaped at the sight of it: a closet essentially the size of my apartment back at court. The muted yellow walls were covered in racks of clothes: jackets, suits, dresses and shoes. It glistened as though it were a mineral show and everything was arranged by colour, style and cloth. As with the rest of the house, you could loose yourself in here. If I were Harriet, I would probably have fainted by now. As it was, my shock came from the very notion that a _male reverend,_ who part-times in mob-work, would have a closet that looked directly taken from _Vogue_ or something of that sort.

I saw Ibrahim out of the corner of my eye and looked over towards him. "Is he insane?" I asked.

Ibrahim, needing no further development on what I was talking about, nodded, amused. "Insanely well-off, perhaps." he said. "See anything you like?"

I faced him fully. "You are not serious." I said as flatly as I was able.

He responded with equal conviction. "Absolutely."

I gaped for a moment, before regaining some composure. "I am not some _Barbie_ doll you can just dress-up when you feel like it." I snapped.

"No," he affirmed carefully, "what you are is my date for the evening at one of the most prestigious hotels in the city, and right now you look like you've just walked out of ASDA."

I glared at him again. "You know this is silly. We aren't going to get a table on basically two seconds notice."

Ibrahim quirked a brow and I realised that, yes, we probably were.

"I'll try not to be too offended by your disinterest, but if you would pick something it would be most helpful." he said, gesturing towards the rack of dresses.

"I hate dresses." I said flatly, the words sending me right back to the beginning of this mess.

Ibrahim paused for a moment, eyeing me curiously. "Why?"

"What?"

"Why do you hate them?" his tone conveyed a sense of genuine interest, rather than the usual contempt I was met with.

I suddenly felt very uncomfortable, which was a little ironic considering. "They make me uncomfortable"

He frowned. "About what?"

I stuttered a little, my shoulders rising up to shrug involuntarily. "I don't know, they just do." As dismissive as it was, I didn't want to go into it.

He pondered for a moment, his expression unreadable. "Okay, but may I ask you - just for this night - to trudge through the discomfort and pretend to be my pretentious and self-absorbed girlfriend with a silver spoon up her arse...superficially." he said, with a light smile.

I laughed a little and shook my head. "You know, I don't think they are all like that."

He shrugged. "Perhaps not, but that seems to be the overarching theme." I frowned a little, his comments peaking my curiosity, but I kept this to myself. "So, let's start basic: colour?"

I sighed, looking around a little at the veritable rainbow that surrounded me. "I have no idea."

Smiling, he replied, "Would you allow me, or is that too _Barbie_ -ish?"

I rolled my eyes and he grinned. Turning away for a moment, he scanned the room before pulling out perhaps the pinkest thing I had ever seen: it was bright, loud and frilly. He held it towards me and I glared at him. "I am going to smack you."

He chuckled. "Ah, I do love a woman with a bit of spice." he said with a wink, before turning back to re-examine. I folded my arms over my chest and cast my glance out the door. Harriet was most likely still sitting on the floor, submerged in her investigation, except now Emyl was there for her to talk to and he'd always listen. Hamlet, I imagined, was already on getting us a reservation and quite possibly still chasing down more leads. I had to hand to the man, he could really work and work well. Perhaps we did judge him too quickly…?

I was brought out of my musings with Ibrahim holding up a long, forest green evening gown; silken, with off-shoulder sleeves but the darker green material underneath left no room for exposed skin. It was elegant and I liked how it looked, but I wasn't sure how far that would go to stop the discomfort that would likely follow.

"Huh." I said.

"You like?" Ibrahim asked, still emoting confidence and his usual deviousness, but there was a certain trepidation in his voice.

"It looks nice." I replied.

He cocked a brow. "I shall take that as a yes." he handed to me and gestured towards the small bathroom that adjoined the closet.

I eyed it cautiously, my fingers snaking through the material out of nervousness, which I covered up with my usual snarky defense. "Getting a little _Barbie_ -ish." I said.

Ibrahim laughed. "If it brings you any comfort, I was suggesting you harbour yourself in there to both try it on and allow me to get into my 'costume' for the evening."

I looked at the crisp, perfectly tailored suit he was wearing a frowned. "You look fine."

"I'm flattered, but I need a dress shirt."

"What's wrong with the one you are wearing?"

He paused for a minute before shaking his head. "Bless you, Janine." he chuckled, before turning away to find a more 'suitable' shirt. I shrugged and hurried into the bathroom, locking the door behind me. It was then that I spent the next five minutes staring at the dress, rather than putting it on. It was truly beautiful, artful no less with its gentle floral patterns and seeped into the lacing, entwining like ivy against a tree. It was a really nice dress, but I still didn't like it. I had always hated dresses; they made me feel vulnerable and exposed. There was a certain security I could draw with wrapping myself in jackets and trousers, but with a dress it flowed free and with it came a constant paranoia that everyone could see past the barriers I had fought to construct. They were also impractical, more often than not over the top and held a sole purpose of being an object of admiration, effectively objectifying the person underneath - drawing on their appearance above all else. I hated them, but that didn't matter. Today I would have to suffer through it; this mission was far more important than a silly little grudge against an inanimate object. _For Pete's sake, pull yourself together, Hathaway._ I resolved and grabbed the blasted thing, stripping down to my underwear and sliding the material over my head. It slid down with ease, fitting me perfectly. Either Ibrahim was incredibly observant or he'd gotten Vincent to read my mind to find out my dress size; regardless, I couldn't help but be impressed. The skirt brushed against my bare legs and fell to just pool against the ground, covering my feet. I still wasn't overly comfortable, but the extent of covering was enough to put me at a little ease. I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror, but turned away quickly. Taking a few deep breaths, I unlocked the door and eased out.

"Ah, I thought you had died-" Ibrahim cut himself shot and closed his mouth. I looked over him critically.

"You look exactly the same." I stated.

He remained silent for a moment before replying. "As do you."

I scoffed. "Funny. So, is this alright then?" I said, looking down at the material over me.

"Perfectly." he replied.

I sighed, my eyes still down. "Okay, let's get this over with. Do we know that he is definitely going to be there?"

"He'll be there." Ibrahim said with confidence.

I narrowed my eyes. "That's not a yes."

He smiled. "Do you not trust me?"

I raised my eyebrows. "I let you put me in this thing." I pointed out.

He smiled. "Then we're good."

Twenty minutes later, we were also out the door. I should have really known not to have been in any way surprised when Hamlet had walked in and began accessorising me with one simple look, but he had a good eye for arrangement and composition. His whole house told us that, with every room so perfectly furnished and with a colour scheme that remained both interesting, consistent and beautiful throughout. He was clearly a man who appreciated fine things, expensive things for sure. Vincent too had come from a long line of wealth. I knew nothing of the history of Jean-Paul Boursain, but from my brief encounter with _la renard_ , it seemed he too had the airs of a higher-class living.

So what was Ibrahim's issue with it?

The question swirled in my head and was enough to distract me from the long taxi drive to the Ritz hotel. Maybe I was just misreading him: I mean, he had never mentioned anything of the sort and his own wardrobe was something of a marvel, but I couldn't shake the feeling. _Dear God, this man was infuriating._

We hopped out the cab a few blocks down from where the hotel was situated. Ibrahim paid the driver and thanked him while I very much reconsidered my agreeing to this; if my feet were sore in my sturdy combat boots, they were now at a whole new level in the heels that Hamlet, Ibrahim and Harriet had forced me into. I did not see the problem with wearing the boots, you wouldn't see them anyway, but apparently that was neither a valid point nor in any way acceptable for the situation, so I found my argument promptly shut down. I shifted my weight from side to side in a vain attempt to relieve some of the pressure, but to no avail.

I saw Ibrahim come beside me, looking down upon me curiously. "Are you alright there, Janine?" he asked.

I grunted. "I hate heels."

He chuckled. "As do I." he said.

I glanced up at his face and laughed. He grinned widely, the moonlight flashed against his fangs, and he extended his arm out for me to take. I hesitated for a moment before slotting my arm through his. In actuality, holding onto him really helped with the heel situation, but there was no way he was knowing about that.

The Ritz was _ridiculous._ I had to struggle to keep my mouth from dropping through the floor and out the other side of the bloody Earth. A decorative mix of red velvets and silks, with cream marble surfaces and glistening gold in every glance. The foyer alone seemed to span for miles, with such a light from the diamond chandelier as to be confused with an exploding star. And then there were the people: dressed in their finest with a collection that could rival that of the Royal family. Queen Tatiana had nothing on these painted people. I hesitated in even thinking 'people' was the correct form of address: they appeared so different from what I considered normal that they were positively alien to me.

I felt my hand grip tighter on Ibrahim's sleeve. "Bloody hell." I muttered.

"Mhmm" He hummed, still smiling and acting as though he was completely fine in this environment.

"Are you sure there's a restaurant in here?" Who was I kidding, there was probably a blooming cathedral located in the basement.

Ibrahim nodded over to the far side of the wall to our right. "Through there." I swallowed, but apparently loud enough for him to hear. "You doing okay?"

"I'm fine, just...out of place." I said, glancing towards a woman who looked like she was wearing just sapphires.

With one final sweep of the room, Ibrahim lead me towards the entrance of the restaurant, walking casually but with a certain haste. He greeted the waiter in Turkish and the waiter replied with the same amicability. I resisted rolling my eyes. _Of course he knew him._

We were lead into an even richer area; the colour had deepened so the calming white of the marble had morphed to a star-studded black; the crimson fabrics draped the wall and hung down like blood from a hangman's neck. The scent was intoxicating, overpowering even. I felt I could fall over at any time, and not just because I kept fumbling on my heels. Thankfully, my folly was covered by both my dress and the fact our table was approaching. Ibrahim let go of me for a moment to pull out the chair. I covered my slight surprise with a smile and sat down as he tucked it in behind me.

The waiter said something to Ibrahim, who replied with a nod. When the chap had left, I addressed the Moroi. "Could we keep the convo in English?" I said. My Russian was bad, but at least I had basic idea. I had no idea where to start on Turkish.

Ibrahim smiled. "Of course. He asked if we wanted wine."

I shot my head up. "We can't drink on the job."

"Why not? I do it all the time." he said.

I glared at him a little. "Increased delirium is not going to be even slightly helpful."

"Ah, but increased calmness is." he countered. "Thank you, by the way, for agreeing to this. I know this is not exactly your forte-"

I waved him off. "It is my job."

He nodded a little, though his slight falter had me wincing at my abruptness. "Quite."

I decided to keep the discussion going. "Have you spotted Guerra yet?"

He chuckled. "Well, I have only just sat down..."

"Sorry." I apologised, but he waved me off before casting his eyes around the room. I became transfixed, watching the deep brown orbs scan the room in slow surveillance. It was enchanting as I saw the concentration deepen in his brow, but his eyes remained as wide and as brilliant as they always were. I blinked and desperately tried to look away, finding it almost impossible as everything about him drew me closer. I was actually relieved when the waiter came back to give us our wine.

" _Tekrar merhaba, Ibrahim."_ he said.

Ibrahim smiled, his eyes ceasing their study to look up at the man. " _İngilizce konuşabiliyor musunuz, Danyal?"_

He smiled and turned to me. "Yes, forgive me, madam."

"Oh, no problem at all. I'm Janine," I said, figuring if he already knew Ibrahim's name, it would be weird not to know mine. Also, I disliked being addressed as 'madam' so it worked both ways.

The waiter gave a little bow. "Danyal, a pleasure. I hope you enjoy." And with that he departed.

Ibrahim was giving me an amused look and I instantly tensed. "What?"

"Nothing," he said, pouring himself a glass of the beverage. "Tell me, do you flirt with everyone when you go on a date?"

I dropped my jaw, "I was not- this is not- you know what, give me some of that." I said, reaching for the bottle. Ibrahim, rather childishly, pulled it out of my reach and held it so I could not, with my short limbs, take it from him. I scowled and he conceded, chuckling as he passed it towards me. I filled a sizable glass before setting the bottle down and picking it up.

"Cheers," Ibrahim said, holding his glass out towards me. I sighed but complied and Ibrahim looked very pleased with himself as a result. "Two o'clock." he said.

I frowned for a moment, but my eyes inadvertently cast themselves in the military direction, resting upon a middle-aged man, with a rounded stomach and chins that could run for Congress watching as a young female waitress with long black hair scraped into a bun placed a plate filled with some form of sea-creature on before him. He nodded towards her, smiling and saying something before she walked away and he tucked in.

I brought my attention back to Ibrahim. "That's him?"

"That's him: Christán Guerra." he affirmed, taking a sip of his wine.

My eyes darted towards the large man again before returning back as quickly as they had left. "Okay, what's your plan?"

Ibrahim smirked for a moment, picking up the menu and perusing it for a moment. "The fish here is lovely…"

I scowled. "Be serious. Please. For just one second."

His eyes flicked towards me over the top of the menu. "I am always serious, _Guardian_ Hathaway." he said. "We need to wait until he leaves; it would be fruitless to make a scene now. Not to mention if he is a member, a public spectacle would most likely result in either us, him or all of us getting killed to prevent word about _La Luz'_ inner workings. So for now, we enjoy the food." he said with a smile.

I remained a little sceptical but did not dispute. Glancing down at the menu and skimmed the options...then saw the price. "What the-" I cut myself off. Ibrahim looked over his menu again, frowning a little at my reaction. I merely gawked. "How are we paying for this?"

Ibrahim smiled. "We have good funding."  
"Clearly, I wouldn't be able to afford a boiled egg on here!" I said, doing my best to try at keep my voice down.

"Turkish eggs are divine - it is rather a shame we are not going to be here for breakfast as _menemen_ is decidedly transcendental." he said, his eyes back on the menu. "If I may be so bold, might I recommend the _mantı."_

"What is it?" I asked, scanning the menu for anything beginning with an 'm'.

"Dumplings that look a little like ravioli, but are far superior." he said before adding, "In my opinion, that is."

I ended up ordering it anyway. I spent most of the evening glancing towards Guerra, watching his every move carefully and then observing the room to see if anyone was doing the same. I managed to maintain a good discourse with Ibrahim and eat this 'ravioli dumplings' that were placed before me and were definitely worth the recommendation. There was something about the man; call it a hunch or instinct, but I definitely felt that something was off. He seemed too...normal. Too calm. Maybe he knew we were there and perhaps even what we intended to do. Either way, something wrong and I couldn't put my finger on it.

"If you frown any harder, you'll be fixed that way forever." Ibrahim's voice brought my attention away from Guerra and back to him.

I scowled. "I'll bear that in mind." I muttered and he smiled. "Does everything feel alright to you?"

He paused, laying his fork down at his plate as he studied me with a sense of curiosity and minor confusion. "How do you mean?"

I pondered for a moment, wondering how best to phrase my inward concerns without sounding completely mad. "I've just got a feeling that something's not right."

"With Guerra?"

I nodded. "It's probably nothing." I said, entertaining the possibility that I may have just been mistaking my own personal discomfort for an actual issue.

Ibrahim shook his head. "No, dismiss it not: instinct is often good, and I trust yours more than most." he said.

I was slightly taken aback, but had no time to react as movement in the corner of my eye alerted me to a new development: Guerra was on the move. Ibrahim, who had been observing the man by the large mirror behind me, perked up; his eyebrows rose and his eyes locked onto the large man like Big Brother over Airstrip One as he rose and began to make his way through the maze of tables and dining couples towards the exit that lead back into the hotel.

"Well, my dear," I Ibrahim said, "I think it is time we made a move…"

* * *

 **Hello my dear comrades in Comrade :)**

 **I hope this finds you well. Terribly sorry for the long wait, but I hope that it was worth it - we are really getting into the bulk of the plot now and I'm rather enjoying writing it, much to the point where I am being a little pedantic :3 I hesitated in uploading this earlier because I wanted to make sure I'm getting it right, but I still feel there is room for improvement. I would love to hear what you guys think about how this story is developing, so please do leave a comment :D**

 **Here's wishing you every blessing,**

 **Mariarty**

 **P.S. As much as I try and stay away from it, unfortunately (much like Janine in this case) I do not know much/anything about the Turkish language so I will confess that Google Translate has been used. If you do speak Turkish, please feel free to correct me there as I really do not wish to offend or misrepresent what appears to be a beautiful language :)**


	18. Chapter 18

**Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Academy or anything surrounding it (but I do own this plot :D)**

* * *

JPOV

I inhaled, the air filling my lungs and the fresh oxygen set to work immediately by clearing my head and quelling my heartrate. "He's approaching the door now." I said, watching Guerra stride towards the doorway just to leave the restaurant.

Ibrahim nodded. "Leave it a moment."

"But he could-"

"Just a moment." he said, silencing my argument. The nervousness and unease returned. When we were at Court, as Guardians the earpieces in our ears provided an all but constant stream of either information relevant to the target or regarding another one of our positions; it served like an imaginary blanket on a cold winter's night - a security. Here, we had no such luxury. Dealing with such an advanced and developed enemy meant that Ibrahim and I were cut off from our headquarters, fending off only on the resources and information we had in our heads, which did not, in this case, include a detailed floor map of the hotel. I had a sense that Ibrahim had been here before, but I had an equal sense that that was some time ago; there was no way he remembered every detail, even for him, that was too much. And we couldn't be sure he was going straight up to his room, we couldn't afford to assume anything. With all these thoughts swirling about in my head like magma under the Earth's crust, I was ready to erupt with worry.

"Ibrahim, you've had your moment; now, can we go get this guy?" I said.

He nodded. Rising up, he reached into his pocket and dumped a wodge of lira on the table. I mirrored him, jumping to my feet, attempting to maintain some form of decorum, but the adrenaline pulsing through my veins had me in full Guardian-mode, rather than the girlfriend-mode I was supposed to be in.

Acting had never been my forte.

I was stopped from sprinting out of the restaurant by Ibrahim catching my arm and bringing towards his. "Discretion, Janine." he whispered. He was neither irritated nor commanding, rather calm and gentle in such a way that, and perhaps out of sheer empathy, I felt calmed. In truth though, I was a mess; if Guardian Peters could see me now! Good gracious, he would be appalled. Every Guardian instinct drilled into me from my infancy at St Vlads was telling me to bolt: if you saw a threat, you dealt with it. You did not dilly about with edict and allow the Moroi, whom _you_ were supposed to be protecting and keeping out of danger, lead you by the arm headfirst into danger. Then there was also that nig - a nagging feeling that just would not shift. Something wasn't right.

We left the same way Guerra had and my eyes began immediately scanning for the man. I caught sight of his large form as he entered the elevator going up.

"Shit." I muttered.

"Fret not," Ibrahim said, following my gaze.

"And how exactly do you imagine I should do that? He could be going anywhere!" I hissed.

But Ibrahim did not flinched. "The main body of in-hotel entertainment is on this floor, with the pool and gym facilities underneath. Negating the fact that Mr Guerra does not particularly strike one as one to visit the gym, that lift is going up. The only thing up is rooms and we know which one he is in."

"He could be going to someone else's." I pointed out.

"If you have the presidential suite, you would not be visiting other rooms - they would be coming to you." He said.

"Unless, of course, you wanted to be subtle." I responded, my rational returning as I began to fully assess the situation as objectively as I was capable.

"Janine, this man booked out the _presidential_ suite - he ain't going for subtlety."

I conceded on that point, even with Ibrahim's uncharacteristic use of slang. Swiftly yet not so much as to attract any suspicion, I made our way to the dual elevators; Guerra had taken the one on the right and the left had just arrived. As I stepped in I discovered that the lift inside held a certain optically phantom quality: it was smaller than one would initially think, given the strategic placement of the mirrors, making the squeeze of the five or so people who joined Ibrahim and I in the small box substantially tighter. Thankfully though, none of them were heading up to the very top floor, so there was relief to be had when they left.

"How will you do it?" I asked as the question formed in my mind once Ibrahim and I were alone, the lift casually pulling us up through the earlier half of the teens to get to the magic twenty-three.

"How will I do what?" He replied with a slight frown.

"Get him to talk - give you the information you want." I elaborated and then again. "You don't have Vincent."

He let out a loud chuckle. "I am so glad you consider me capable of interrogating someone on my own." There was a lick of bitterness in his words.

"That's not what I meant." I replied flatly as his chuckle died down. "I'm just saying you don't have the benefit of telepathy."

"Most people find themselves lacking in that particular department," he said with his usual teasing tone, "however, and most fortunately for those of us who are in want, there have been developments in the department of acquiring information."

I tightened my lips together and looked away, fearful of just what that entailed. It was a struggle, no matter who it was, to watch someone hurt another person, made all the worse by not being able to do anything about it. Not only was it unjust, it also painted a completely different picture of a person, particularly when it was someone you knew. I was well aware of the dangers of a false persona, but still had grown rather attached, daresay even fond, of the image I had of Ibrahim as a devious, but never violent con-artist. To have that broken...I feared I would loose a dear, dear friend.

"Do you know what one of the prevailing causes of the events of Berwick in 1590 was?" Ibrahim had clearly noted my silent contemplating and deemed it appropriate to react as he thought best.

"Funnily enough, I don't." I replied.

He cocked a brow. "You did not study history?"

"Not extensively - academia wasn't exactly high on the priority list." I pointed out. "If it's not 1066 or the First World War, then I don't have a clue."

He smiled. "You do not know what you are missing." he said with a wink.

I rolled my eyes, but could not fight the tug on my lips. "Go on then, what was the prevailing cause of the events in fifteenth century Berwick."

"Sixteenth," he corrected.

I closed my eyes and shook my head. "Mate, I don't even know where Berwick is."

"Really?"

Reopening them, I looked back at him. "Yeah, really."

"That seems unlikely…"

"And why might that be?"

He paused, analysing my expression to find any trace that I was joking. When he realised my ignorance was true, he had to fight the ever growing smile that would have plunged him into laughter. "Berwick is in Scotland, Janine."

I blinked. "You're fucking kidding."

He shook his head, a little laughter escaping from the corners of his mouth. I sighed and gently hit my head against the side of the lift. Composing himself, Ibrahim cleared his throat and brought my disbelieving attention back towards him. "The point I was trying to make…"

"Were you?" I said, still humiliated at my lack of knowledge.

He chuckled. "Yes. If you'll indulge my metaphor for a moment, the point I was making is that unnecessary violence in an effort to acquire information leads to Witch Hunts. It is always unreliable."

I felt the echo of a previous conversation run through me - an eerie sense of déjà vu. Smiling, I looked back up at him. "All bark, no bite."

He nodded. "You know, perhaps I should have that tattooed somewhere for you as it seems to be a popular topic of conversation." he said. I shot him a slight glare, but he merely raised his eyebrows, feigning a sense of innocence.

The elevator had the good courtesy to arrive at our destination.

Ibrahim took the lead leaving, something that was neither discussed nor something I was particularly happy about, but I hung back, covering his back and assessing the floor for dangers. So far I could see four doors, one of which was the entrance to the suite, the others were unidentifiable. I assumed one lead to the stairs and the others were perhaps storage cupboards for the cleaning staff, but the knob who had designed this place had decided to make all the doors look the same so there was no viable way of differentiating any of them. Going off my account of the first floor, I assumed that the stairs were behind one of the two doors on my left, therefore slightly elevating the chance from 33% to 50%. Then there were the windows, though given we were twenty-three stories up, that seemed unlikely, but I wouldn't overrule anything when it came to _La Luz._

I was so busy making mental note of the surroundings that I nearly bypassed what Ibrahim was doing.

"Whoah, you're not just going in there!?" I said, jogging a little to catch up.

He turned to face me. "Are you going to stop me?"

"We-I-"

"I thought not." he said moving past me.

I stepped back in front of him. "Right, mister, your safety may not be very important to you, but it is to me and I am not willing to watch you try and kill yourself because you weren't thinking and just waltzed into a terrorist's room."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "Whilst I am undeniably flattered that my life is of such value to you, I feel that you are not exactly dressed for the occasion."

I blinked. "And who's fault was that!" I exclaimed.

"Almost as if I did it by design." he said, tapping his chin. I scowled. _Oh, no way he was winning this._ I bent down in front of him. He took a step back. "What are you-" he stopped himself as he saw I had unstrapped my heels and rose to kick them off.

I smiled, a cruel and sickly smile. "I have both a gun and a stake strapped to my calf right now and a decade and a half of training on how to use them."

He raised a brow. "And who told you I wasn't armed…?" he countered.

My smile increased and I stepped towards him and closed the gap between us. Placing my arms round his waist, I was surprised at how much boldness I was managing to maintain in that moment. This was not lost on Ibrahim either who couldn't have been more shocked if I had stripped right in front of him. Of course, his distraction was the point: he was completely none the wiser to the fact that I was essentially patting him down to check for weaponry, but in a slightly more seductive way. "I know," I said, rising on my tiptoes (slightly regretting the fact I had taken of the heels) to have my lips reach his ear, "because the gun isn't mine…" And with that, I pulled back holding the glock that was concealed in by his suit in my hands. Ibrahim, clearly suffering from a severe case of disorientation, took a moment before coming to his senses.

I had anticipated his anger, but instead was rewarded with his growing smirk. "You said it was strapped to your calf..."

I inclined my head. "No, I said I had a gun and a _stake_ strapped to my calf." And I lifted my skirt to prove my point.

His smirk grew to a grin. "Well played, Hathaway. Well played."

I smiled, feeling rather pleased with myself. "Right then," I said, returning to my usual brash nature. "You _wait_ here," I said with extra emphasis. "And I will signal to let you in." I said.

Ibrahim smiled still for a moment, his whole demeanour softer than I had ever seen, before raising his arms and stepping back. "Of course, _Guardian_ Hathaway." he said.

I rolled my eyes and turned away, gently opening the door to the suite and stepping in. I found myself in a hallway of sorts, clean and decorated, with a mirror on the wall to my right. Avoiding being caught on my reflection, I ducked down, the dress proving difficult to move smoothly in, but I made do. No point moaning about it now. Sliding through the hall, I got to the main body: an open planned living, dining area, the bedroom off to the far left with an ensuite no doubt located thereabouts, if the running water was anything to go by. I scanned the room, looking for anything and anyone who should not be there: it was silent, lonely, desolate. The open-plan view and Guerra's evident laziness with closing doors made my task all the easier to the extent where I didn't have to move from where I was crouched at the threshold between the hallway and the rest of the suite. I seemed perfectly clear to me that the only person here was in the shower, and that said person was an awful singer.

I edged back towards the door, poking my head out to let Ibrahim in whereupon I found the foyer area empty...

Panic surged in my body as I fully exited the room and began frantically looking around. _No, no, no!_ My head was screaming, my heart racing. Two minutes - not even that! _Ibrahim, please!_

" _¡Pero qué mierda!"_ The distinct sound of a gruff, clearly frightened, Spanish man filled my eardrums. I shot my head back towards the room and darted in quickly and silently, edging towards my former position to see Guerra's large form staggering out of the ensuite, through the bedroom and into the main space, followed by a most notable man...

 _Son of a bitch!_

Ibrahim gave me a quick wink, but raised his hand slightly to keep me where I was. I clenched my jaw.

" _¡_ _Quién eres tú! ¡Que quieres!"_ Guerra was in full yell, attempted to assert some form of authority which was difficult considering he was just in a towel.

" _Silencio, por favor. Eres demasiado ruidoso, señor."_ Ibrahim quipped.

" _And who are you_ ," Guerra said, still in full enraged Spanish, " _to tell me what to do!?_ "

Ibrahim shrugged, still wandering about the room like he owned the bloody place. _"A concerned civilian."_

" _You are no civilian"_ he spat.

Ibrahim smiled. _"How right you are."_ He cast Guerra a long side glance. _"I am_ so _much worse... "_ trailing off, Ibrahim gave his voice a dangerous edge that had Guerra swallow and consider, made worse by the subverted sound he made with his Spanish inflection.

" _You want money, I have money-"_ Guerra said, pleading in a way I would not attribute to a confident, terrorist informant. Then again, Pablo wasn't exactly a picture of tranquility, but in his defense, he was just a boy. This was a middle-aged man, cowering beneath Ibrahim's feet. Clearly, Ibrahim had picked up on this vibe and his eyes narrowed in such a way that I knew he was a little confused, but Guerra was none the wiser.

" _Why would I desire your money, sir?"_ Ibrahim asked, feigning curiosity.

" _I am rich, very rich - my work, I am an operations manager for a hotel chain! I am paid well! Please, take my money!"_ It was honestly quite sad to watch. There was no way this guy could stand anywhere near someone as intimidating as this _Abuela_ seemed to be. Unless of course he was a very, _very,_ good actor.

Ibrahim paused and considered for a moment. " _That does not answer why_ I _would want it…"_ he said, toying with the sobbing man. _"Look at you, you are pathetic! Oh, what a disgrace you would be to your grandmother…"_ Ibrahim said, dropping the word _Abuela_ into his speech and watching for the reaction.

" _I am sorry, please, I am sorry!"_ he continued to sobbed vehemently. With a slight glance towards me, Ibrahim's face hardened still and he strove to cover up his confusion.

" _Where is your computer?"_ He asked, still holding that dangerous tone.

" _Bedroom! It's in the bedroom! On the desk!"_ Guerra said, pointing frantically towards the door. Ibrahim cast me a glance and I nodded; he walked into the room and I watched Guerra, looking for any signs of a false display. But this guy was not letting up: he continued to sob and blubber as he trembled against the large couch; the fear he exhibited was so large, it was almost tangible. He still hadn't seen me, but I think he was too occupied with what Ibrahim was doing or could do to him. No-one could act _this_. This was real.

Guerra was not our guy…

Ibrahim returned, striding confidently back into the room and slamming the open laptop down onto the table. The act made Guerra jump, but Ibrahim ignored him. Typing rapidly for a few moments, he stared at the screen and then a knowing, but bitter, smile lifted on his face. He rose, and turned to the quivering man.

" _The money?"_ he questioned.

Guerra began rapidly pointing towards the picture on the wall. Ibrahim smiled, striding towards the painting and throwing it off. Guerra curled deeper into his chair and continued to sob as Ibrahim studied the safe before typing in a combination and the safe opened. With a smile, he walked back towards Guerra who scooted as far back on the couch as he could.

" _A word of advice, Mr Guerra,"_ he said in a much softer, but still eerie tone, " _man up. If I were a real mobster, you'd be dead and you'd have lost everything."_ and with that he rose to his feet.

Guerra widened his eyes and watched Ibrahim intensely. " _You are not…"_ he trailed off.

Ibrahim shook his head. _"The company sent me to make sure security measures were being taken seriously. I am afraid, you have failed spectacularly and this will have to be reported back."_ he lied with such eloquence, I nearly believed him.

Guerra suddenly burst out laughing, the relief clear on his face. _"¡Qué horror! Oh, you really terrified me."_

" _Clearly."_ Ibrahim said with a slight smile. _"Maybe work on those security measures, huh?"_

" _Oh, absolutely!"_ Guerra said, flopping back in such a way his towel dislodged and I had to look away. I did not see Ibrahim's reaction, but it was followed by a: " _I must go: good evening, Mr Guerra."_ And with that he walked back towards me.

Guerra's voice carried through the large room. " _Oh, adios, mi amigo! Muchos_ _gracias por su atención."_

" _Por nada,"_ Ibrahim said as he passed me and we left the room. Out in the carpeted hall of the twenty-third floor both Ibrahim and I looked at each other with deep confusion.

"He had no idea," I said, "about _any_ of it…?"

Ibrahim shook his head. "None at all. No-one could act that."

I stuttered for a moment before speaking again. "Are you sure, because-"

"His password to his personal laptop was 'password' and combination to the safe containing at least the equivalent of four-hundred million dollars was '1,2,3,4'." He pointed out. "No terrorist group would hire that much of an idiot."

I blinked. "He's a business manager though…"

"Yes, it does make you worry…" Ibrahim said, walking over to the lift and pushing on the button. I picked up my heels and stood next to him.

"But it doesn't make sense: he was Kravitz' Spanish connection…" I said.

Ibrahim pondered. "Maybe we were wrong about Kravitz?"

"And it is just a massive coincidence that he was planning a big event with a Spanish colleague on the night of the attack and one such colleague just so happens to be in Istanbul?" I said.

"Not so much coincidence as misunderstanding." he said as the lift doors opened. We stepped in and Ibrahim pushed the button for the ground floor.

"You think I misheard him?" I asked, thinking back to that night and relaying everything I could for the evening's proceedings. My memory wasn't perfect, but I could not bring myself to admit I had cocked this up that badly.

"Maybe, but given your so highly regarded training, I find that unlikely. It could just be a case of misinterpretation, rather than mishearing." Ibrahim said.

I closed my eyes and looked away. "You don't have to come up with theories on my account." I said, highly suspecting I had majorly messed up.

Ibrahim brushed his curled index finger under my chin and brought my gaze up towards him. "I can assure you, I am not." He said, looking down at me. He did not pull away and I felt myself falling into some sort of trance. And a bloody strong one at that. I was pretty sure that if he had asked, I would have done anything he wanted.

It was then that the lift stopped and the doors opened; a slightly older lady took one look at us and shot us a knowing smile. Ibrahim's hand lowered and he looked away. Me, I still took a moment to shake the feeling that still lingered within me, all the while I knew that the lady was still smiling.

As we were going through the lower floors, more people joined us and left, until eventually we reached the ground floor. Ibrahim and I hadn't said a word to each other the whole way down, but a question had formed in my mind. Given that speaking on trains was a no go, I suspected that rule extended to cramped lifts.

"How did you get in?" I asked, once we were fully outside of the Ritz, walking back to Hamlet's as we needed the time to process what just happened (and I'm pretty sure Ibrahim couldn't be bothered to call a cab).

"Cleaner's door - it backs into the storage cupboard. Needs a key, but I am pretty good at picking a lock." He said with a shrug.

 _Well, that explains the second door._ I thought, attempting to find some solace in the fact he had outdone me... again.

"And why, pray tell, could you not just wait?" I replied.

Ibrahim smiled and shook his head. "Going in the front would be too obvious and not nearly as intimidating." He said.

I paused as that sunk in. "Hang on - why were you arguing with me before then!?" I explained, a little affronted.

"Ah, well I needed you distracted and with a sense of victory given the uncomfortable position you had found yourself in, though I wasn't anticipating just _how_ you intended to get your way." He said.

I scowled. "Desperate times call for desperate measures." I muttered, very much annoyed that my presumed victory was actually his. _Bastard._ "So, what now then?" I said, the irritation in my tone remaining steadfast and stubborn.

"I suppose we are going to have to recheck Croft's list, if we entertain the possibility that Kravitz had nothing to do with this." Ibrahim replied with an equally notable irritation in the his tone that made it clear that he was not enjoying that particular prospect. "A rather inconvenient notion." He muttered.

"Sorry," I apologized.

Shaking his head, he waved me off. "It's not your fault."

I scrunched up my face. "I mean, it is."

He smiled. "Perhaps a bit, but how were you to know?"

"I should have known better." I replied and nothing Ibrahim could have said would have convinced me otherwise. I should have known better - looked at the evidence objectively. I mean, sure, the overwhelming opinion was that Kravitz had something to do with this, but it didn't help that I had my own agenda to this: I _wanted_ him to be the mole. Not only would it have made our job here easier, but his son had hurt me and there was no denying that had played a part in my mind convincing the rest of me of his guilt. As a Guardian, we were taught to separate our work from our personal difficulties and I think what we have here is a fine example of just why we should do that. But it wasn't just Alistair. No, the other issue came in the form of another man and one who I could not seem to get out of my head. I could not think straight or clearly these past few days and it had a lot to do with the man I was presently walking back with. I needed to get over this, and fast. No good could ever come of it and nothing ever would. It was stupid, foolish even, and something that was inhibiting me from my role as a Guardian.

 _They come first._

"Are you going to put those on?" Ibrahim said, breaking me out of my thoughts.

"Hmmm?" I asked. He nodded towards the heels in my hand. "It's honestly more comfortable without." I said.

He laughed. "I believe you." he said, causing me to chuckle.

And thus we walked; it was a pleasant stroll back to Hamlet's house, remarkably void of any misdirections, but I suspected Ibrahim was well versed on the layout of Istanbul. It just seemed like the kind of thing he would just randomly know. The conversation was light and mostly pointless, though I think the levity was much needed given the slightly disappointing revelation of the evening. It was about an hour before we arrived back at Hamlet's home, to which we were met by the sight of a cab pulling away into the distance. I turned to Ibrahim and frowned.

"Were we expecting anyone?" I asked following the cab with an air of deep suspicion.

Ibrahim too had his focus on the disappearing taxi. "Not to my knowledge."

I turned my gaze to him. "If I ask you, would you _please_ hang back andlet me go in first?"

He turned to me and nodded lightly. "Yes." he said.

"Right then, please?" I asked.

He smiled. "As you wish, _Guardian_ Hathaway."

I had given the glock back to Ibrahim at the start of our journey back, so I bent down and retrieved my stake from my ankle. Easing open the door, I stepped in; I remained acutely aware of Ibrahim behind me, not allowing myself to lose him for what would be a second time that evening. Edging my way through the call, my fingers danced against the cool metal of the hilt. I halted suddenly at the sound of laughter coming from the living area. Frowning, I moved a little faster and saw the source:

"Ah, a very good evening to you, Janine."

I blinked. "Vincent?"

The British Moroi offered me a bow, before straightening up and running his fingers through his hair. "A pleasure as always. Though perhaps not quite what you were expecting." He said, nodding to the stake in my hand.

"Nice to see you on the ball though, Hathaway," Hamlet said, bringing Vincent a cup of tea.

Ibrahim walked past me and deposited his blazer jacket on the arm of the couch, "It is more that you cannot seem to get her _off_ the ball," he said with a quick wink.

I shot him a scowl. "Thanks." I said with unconcealed bitterness. He chuckled. Deciding it would probably be best to ignore him, I turned my attention to Vincent. "What are you doing here?"

"Aside from escaping my relatives?" He said and I saw Emyl shake his head from where he was sitting at the table with Harriet and a large pizza between them.

"I think the bigger question is what you two found out from Guerra." Hamlet said, settling himself in the armchair by the fire.

I glanced towards Ibrahim who groaned as he collapsed onto the couch. "Well, we did learn that Guerra has absolutely nothing to do with _La Luz_."

"What?" Emyl said, looking up sharply from his dinner. Harriet too looked shocked and Hamlet just looked confused.

Ibrahim nodded, leaning forward on the couch. "With all certainty, he is not a member of _La Luz._ Which is most irritating as we may need to reconsider the suspect mole in the Court." The disappointment of the room was as heavy as lead.

"B-but Kravitz was perfect…" Harriet said, trailing off a little; the desperation in her voice was enough to make you cry.

Hamlet came out of his momentary mediation to give Harriet the slight harsh reality. "These things are never perfect, my dear." he said.

"Well, that's certainly put a damper on the mood." Vincent said with raised eyebrows and taking a sip of his tea.

Hamlet let out a sigh. "I have feeling that we are about to be victims of Charles' ever-hopeful optimism." Ibrahim snorted as he flopped back against the couch.

Vincent just looked quirkily between his two colleagues, before shrugging. "Well if that is the attitude you chaps are going for, perhaps I won't tell you where the supply base is?"

The whole room froze.

Ibrahim opened his eyes and snapped his head towards Vincent as Hamlet looked up with a look of shock on his face. Harriet gasped as Emyl choked and I just dropped my stake whilst also dropping my jaw.

Vincent...well, he just looked rather smug.

"What?" Ibrahim said through the startled silence that followed.

His British comrade did not reply immediately, instead going for another sip. "As it turns out, our dear friend, Pablo Torres knew a little more than he was letting on. I doubted even his superiors knew of his knowledge and, well, whilst he may be a decided _chieuse_ most of the time _,_ as we know, _la renard_ is most talented at getting people to talk..." he said with a sly looking grin. "But, if you don't want to hear…"

"Vincent, are you saying you know where the _La Luz_ supply base is in Istanbul? As in, a _specific_ address?" I said, a certain eager hope boiling up inside me.

Vincent glanced towards me with his wide, grey eyes that sparkled with a childish joy. He brought his cup to rest just in front of his lips, but his words were as clear a crystal:

"Guardian Hathaway, that is _exactly_ what I am saying…"

* * *

 **Hello my dear comrades in Comrade**

 **Ah ha! I surprised you, no? Look at me with this speedy update! :D Has the world gone upside down! Haha! I was literally so motivated to write that I've been doing it solidly for two days xD Also, I knew a certain character was coming to Istanbul and I really wanted to get there - I like writing for Vincent and I am so glad that you guys are liking him too (or at least I hope you are - I'm going off the reviews I'm getting :3) And look at him here - the hero! Well, along with** _ **la renard**_ **, but hey ho :3**

 **I really hope you guys are enjoying reading this as much as I am writing it. I am genuinely getting quite excited as I am now at the stage where I know exactly what's happening and I can really move it along. I'd be very interested to hear what your thoughts are about it, so please leave me a review :)**

 **I hope to update soon, perhaps not as speedily as I did this one as I do actually have mock exams this week which I should probably revise for, but I hope this shall keep you content for now :)**

 **Here's wishing you every blessing,  
** **Mariarty**


	19. Chapter 19

**Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Academy or anything surrounding it (but I do own this plot :D)**

* * *

JPOV

Of the few people I really got to know in my life, there were only a couple who could genuinely shock me. The first was, as it will surprise no-one, of course Ibrahim, who I was convinced had made it his mission to rendered me as shocked as humanly capable at any given opportunity to the point where I was shocked just by the normal things he did. Aside from him, I could probably count the number of people on one hand.

And one of them was definitely Vincent Alexander Cronan the Third…

In spite of the fact he could read minds, which was already shocking enough, this was perhaps his glorifying moment of sheer bafflement and shock. He had managed to turn the entire room from a bitter pit of despair to a glistening field of hope and wonder, and as he said the address, that feeling only grew.

"Are you sure?" Emyl said, figuratively pinching himself to wake up from the dream in which we had all stumbled on gold.

Vincent nodded affirmatively. "I can personally attest to that: he was not lying." And given the fact it was coming from a telepath, that certainly meant something.

And with that came a new sense of optimism. Clearly someone out there liked us, for this was a turn of events that only God himself could conjure. A perfect moment: we had information and _La Luz_ knew nothing about it. If we planned this properly, they could do nothing to stop us.

So plan this properly we did. Vincent, after bestowing us with such a 'revolutionary piece of information' (his words), then bestowed on us the revelation that he was tired. Apparently, he hadn't slept since we separated in England, deciding that was a secondary luxury when compared to the quest we had 'so graciously included him in' (again, his words). Hamlet too suggested it would be best to sleep on this, so we can have a chance to properly clear our heads and don't start acting merely out of impulsive glee. In theory, it was sound, but practically, I knew I wasn't going to be getting any sleep. Neither was Harriet. Neither was Emyl. For Vincent, Hamlet and Ibrahim, this kind of situation was probably so regular an occurrence that it would no longer disturb their sleeping patterns. That is if they chose to sleep as it was clear that Vincent's insomnia was voluntary. For the three of us, it was different. This whole world we had found ourselves in was different, which made something like this seem like Christmas, Easter and every birthday ever wrapped in a bow. Harriet honestly looked as though she could burst into tears with joy.

Thankfully, she was spared the public spectacle when we all decided sleep was on the agenda. I was slightly concerned at Vincent's arrival as our Moroi to Guardian ratio had just gone up to 2:1. It seemed strange to me that none of the members of this 'organisation' had Guardians. I mean, I could understand Ibrahim, and maybe perhaps Vincent given his particular talent at reading people, but Hamlet? That seemed odd. And a darn sight inconvenient too, since during the nights, Emyl had to watch all three of them, while I tried to keep Harriet on the sane side of her mental capacity. In all honesty, I was surprised at how she was managing to keep it together; unlike everyone else under Hamlet's roof, she had not been trained to deal with a situation such as this. Hell, _I_ was barely trained for this! Yet even amongst the tumult of hurricaning emotions, she had managed to stay strong. Perhaps it was time we rethought our stance on the assumed weaknesses of the Moroi? I mean, if Vincent and Ibrahim were anything to go by, we'd have them all out fighting alongside us, rather than being forced into safe houses and hidden away from the monsters that roamed the night.

Though I was not so naive to believe that this would happen in my lifetime. No, the Moroi were far too comfortable with the little arrangement that they had and any deviation from said comfort would be met with flat out disgust.

So for now, we were stuck as we were. And honestly, I didn't mind it. Sure the prospect of getting killed everyday tended to put a damper on your spirits, but it was good to have a clear and sought out purpose in life, which many find themselves wanting.

Night dragged on and dawn bled through, and in spite of my periodic dozing off, I still found myself incapable of falling asleep. Harriet had offered to compel me, but I declined on both an ethical and practical basis: if we were suddenly attacked and I couldn't get up, there would be a rather unpleasant conclusion. She, thankfully, managed to settle down into some form of sleep, for which I was grateful.

When it became too much, I decided to cease my fruitless tossing and turning in favour of a glass of water. Turns out, I was not alone.

"Vincent?"

The Brit turned towards me with a look of pleasant surprise in the bright array of candle-lit tea-lights which remained strategically placed around the room to give a steady and consistent stream of light, before looking down, realising he was without shirt and sheepishly turning away to pull on a t-shirt. "Terribly sorry, Janine."

I smiled at his actions. "It's fine, you needn't apologise."

He cleared his throat a little. "Yes, I forget you Americans have a slightly more liberal approach to life."

"Not all of us," I pointed out.

He smiled with a conceding bow. "Indeed, but given that I am myself a stereotype, I think I can be pardoned for my own assumptions."

I rolled my eyes, turning away to collect a glass from the cupboard before heading to the sink. The tap gave a steady flow of clear water, its constancy in rhythm did well to calm me and I let out a silent, but increasingly contented sigh. "Couldn't sleep?" I asked, not even bothering to look around.

I heard the gentle scrape of the chair against the tiled floor and a distinct thud of someone sitting down. "'Tis a rather unfortunate condition, I find myself in: I am putting it down to the jet-lag."

I chuckled and rotated so that my back could rest against the sink counter. "Not that I am not pleased to see you, but why are you here?" I asked the question that I had been bugging me since the moment I released he was not either a terrorist, intruder or Strigoi standing in the living room.

He leaned back on his chair and chuckled a little. "No offense taken, be assured. When I had heard what Pablo had said, I presumed that this was knowledge that would be pertinent to your predicament, but I dared not risk it falling into the ears of our adversaries, given its value."

It made perfect sense, but I could not help but feel Vincent was holding something back. I decided against pushing it as due to the certain uncertainty that littered his usually flawless tone, I suspected that whatever it was, was a hunch and one that he didn't appear fully able to commit too. With my mind elsewhere, it took me a little longer than it probably should have to notice the increase in concentration on his face. "Hey! You'd better not be poking about it my head."

He smiled, running his fingers through his hair. "Fear not, for alas I am much too drowsy for that, though I will confess to studying your aura. Despite the somewhat draining effect, I find myself needing to practise often as I deem myself to be rather ignorant of many aspects of the feat and, forgive me for saying, but yours is often an interesting read."

I had no idea what he meant by that, but it was unsettling all the same. "In what way?"

"You have a very veritable mix, Janine," he said with a smile, remaining ever enigmatic as I am sure he knew I had no idea what that meant. "The colours that surround you blend and change like no-one I've ever seen - almost as if you are in a permanent state of organised and structured, but nonetheless chaotic sentiment. It is rather mesmerizing to watch, if I'm honest." He paused for a minute and squinted. "That being said, it is a little different today."

I could feel my pulse quicken, but my curiosity seemed to overthrow my normal policy of: 'avoid talking about feelings and emotions at _all_ opportunities'. "How?"

"It is still blended, but the structure seems weaker." he frowned, finding, rather uncharacteristically, it rather difficult to formulate his thoughts. "Everything appears to be almost clashing with each other, rather than neatly merging. You are in conflict with something, perhaps a part of you that you seek so vehemently to suppress, but it appears to be biting back at you." After a beat, he spoke again. "Are you alright, Janine?" His voice completely earnest.

Was I? I was not sure I could say. "I'm fine." I lied. "Honestly." I added to make it sound better. Having someone who could read someone like a book was definitely helpful, particularly when it came to interrogating suspects for information, but less so when it came to personal life. Yet, whether through curiosity or vanity or a little of both, I had walked into this one. Of course my aura was a mess: I knew I was a mess. And given the circumstances - you know, the fact that we were chasing a terrorist group holding our Royal Court and monarch hostage - that would be perfectly understandable. Perhaps if I had said, 'No, this whole thing is freaking me out a little', it would be fine and not met with Vincent's skeptical gaze as he now, no doubt, severely worried for my mental state. But no: the first thing I think of when he said 'inner conflict' was Ibrahim - and I hated myself for it.

"Oh-" Vincent blinked rapidly, cutting off his involuntary noise.

Panic rose within me. "What?"

"No, worry not: your aura just flared and I wasn't expecting it to. I do apologise, I really shouldn't be looking, it's hard to break that habit." he said, his honesty believable, but I was not so naive to assume he had no idea what I was thinking about.

 _Great. Just great._ I thought, before sighing and tossing down the rest of my water. But I couldn't be angry at Vincent, not least because this was partly my own fault, but also given his rather exciting revolution from a couple of hours ago. "Do you think this will work?"

I didn't need to elaborate for him. He smiled. "I tend to avoid making such as assertions, but I do. The only people who know about this are either here or most likely still sobbing in the arms of a Frenchman. And for all the strife he causes, _le renard_ is certainly not one to pass on the chance of eliminating yet another shady organization."

I laughed. "Man, you guys really don't like him."

Vincent shrugged. "You can't like them all, Janine."

"No, I suppose not," I said, musing a little and glancing towards the clock. _03:34._ Blimey. "You got anything for sleep deprivation?" I asked, sighing as I did.

He chuckled, running his fingers through his hair. "I could offer compulsion, but that might cross some ethical boundaries." He said as my smile grew. Raising his eyebrows in acknowledgement of this, he pushed himself up and wandered towards one of Hamlet's many cupboards. With ease, he located the one containing the hot beverages; I was sure he had some sort of radar or something as he was never short of a cuppa when he needed it.

"I'm pretty sure tea has caffeine in it." I pointed out.

"Ah," Vincent replied, "but _Horlicks_ does not."

I raised a brow. "Come again?"

He grinned. " _Horlicks._ A piece of British genius, my dear." he said, plonking the packeted tube on the sideboard before reaching into the fridge to retrieve one of the three milk-bottles that littered the side door.

I rolled my eyes. "You are never far a piece of this genius, are you?"

He shook his head. "Life would be so strange without a little familiarity in it." he said with a wink. Pouring the milk into a measuring jug, he clicked open the microwave and placed it in before setting it to go. "It is a cure for all ailments." he informed me.

"Right." I said, sceptical but nonetheless amused.

"If you'd like, I could add some whiskey to it? Maybe a side of haggis? Hamlet has a deep-fat-frier and I am sure there are some _Mars Bars_ around here somewhere…" he said trailing off a little. I scowled, which only provoked him more. "No? Perhaps some tablet?"

I frowned. "Tablet? Scots are not all drug-users."

Vincent blinked back in surprise. "Oh, Janine: call yourself Scottish and you don't know what tablet is. Shameful really." he said, spooning in the...Haricks? No, Howicks? Never mind. _The powder_ into two mugs and stirring in a little water.

I was spared my response with the microwaves' ding. He pulled out the jug and poured it into the cup. I eyed it with no little suspicion. "And that is going to help…?"

He shrugged. "It always helped me sleep."

"Really?" I asked, surprised that I was getting some insight into the life to the upper-class boy. "Did they not just put brandy in your milk?" I said, rather successfully maintaining a straight face. _Two could play at this game._

I could see the corners of his mouth twitch upward. "They did, but I was a very restless child."

I chuckled. "I can imagine."

He grinned and handed me the mug. I took it, my trust in the man having grown with our every encounter made me faithful enough to take a sip. It was surprisingly nice - warm and comforting and tasted a little like a biscuit.

"Huh, quite good." I vocalised.

Vincent's grin grew. "Ah, Ibrahim may make the omelettes, but _I_ make the _Horlicks."_ He said with wink. I tensed a little at Ibrahim's name, which did not go unnoticed by the Moroi in front of me. I could see he was watching me closely over the top of his mug; I also noted how he used Ibrahim's full name instead of 'Abe' which both he and Hamlet, and perhaps most other people, used.

The silence around us suddenly felt very heavy and was very noticeable.

"Fear not, Janine. I am very good at keeping secrets." he said, in an attempt to be reassuring I am sure, but it only angered me a little.

"There is no secret to tell." I said a little dangerously. Vincent continued to watch me closely. "Will you get out of my head!" I snapped.

"I am nowhere near it, Janine. This is all perfectly obvious." he said in his usual calm manner.

I clenched my jaw. " _This_ is none of your business."

"But it is yours." he said, putting down his mug. "You've seen the world we live in: for us, this," he gestured around him, but really meaning it figuratively, "is a daily occurrence. There is no victory at the end, only another problem and another reason to get killed, all with the almost irresistible lure of the evil we seek to eradicate. It is enough to make anyone mad - to drive anyone to do something unspeakable. I am not saying this for him, Janine, I am saying this for you. Forgive my intrusion, the lack of decorum I can assure you I do not dwell in often, but you must know the danger. For this is not something that you can just dip your toe in and walk away unscathed." he looked towards me, begging me to understand. It was one thing I liked about the man: he never cared what you thought of him, as long as you understood the facts and the danger you could be in. He would scream to high heaven if he believed a warning was necessary.

With that in mind, I was still angry for his breach on my life, _my mind_ , but it was quelled by the sense he was making. It became clear to me the futility in denial, there was no point anymore: I was drawn to Ibrahim in a way beyond what I was supposed to. I hated it. I fought it. But, rather like the world he lived in, the temptation was there and all but irresistible. I felt like I was swimming against a current that was pulling me towards him whilst I desperately tried to splash back to shore, to the point where the act of fighting it was making me drown. It was all I could do to keep my head above water and my heart firmly in check.

Vincent saw. Of course he did, even without his ability, it was obvious. He raised his mug again and held it out in front of me. I watched him and sighed, bringing my mug up and clinking them together. "To the shit we find ourselves in." he said.

I laughed - it was slow, pitiful and desperate, but still a laugh. "To the shit we find ourselves in." I affirmed.

We stayed there for a while, thankfully chatting about something a little less emotionally draining which I was most happy about. Vincent was, as ever, right: the _Horlicks_ was doing the trick as I felt the drowsiness run through my body, forcing me to fight to keep my eyes open. He smiled and suggested we go to bed. Well, he said 'retire' which only had me laughing even more and him rolling my eyes.

"Honestly, you are all as bad as each other." he had grumbled, but there was no bitterness in his tone. Thus, we departed on good terms and I shifted slowly back into my room so as not to wake Harriet. She remained sound asleep, lightly breathing, but had managed to position herself so that she lay on her front with her hair spread around her, hiding her face from the world. I smiled and climbed into the sheets, finally allowing the fatigue and the _Horlicks_ to drift me off to sleep.

Morning then came and with it, the promise of a new plan…

"Ah, Janine: how do you like your eggs?" Vincent was standing in the open-plan dining room. He had straightened himself out since last night (I suspected that Hamlet's closet had something to do with that one) wherein he had replaced his jeans and tee with a full three piece, navy-grey suit, with polished brown dress shoes. With his slicked black hair, I would have perhaps been rather afraid of the wheel and very mobster-esque look he had going, had I not known him. As it was, however, and given that he was armed with a cup of tea and a spatula, he looked about as intimidating as a newborn puppy.

"I'm fine, thanks," I said, looking over him with quizzical amusement.

He shrugged. "Suit yourself." He said, with a quick wink with his pun as you really didn't need to be telepathic to have known what I was thinking.

I rolled my eyes and sat down on one of the stools beside the kitchen island. We were quickly joined by the rest of our party, and with Vincent's culinary skills consumed, we set to work.

"Jesus Christ, Storm," a very disgruntled Andrew Harrison appeared slumped over the screen, his eyes half shut and his face contorted into an unimpressed grimace. The six of us in Istanbul were aware of the eight hour time difference, but after a short assessment, we concluded that on balance it was probably best to wake them up. Drew clearly did not share this particular sentiment, as I doubted anyone would at one o'clock in the morning, but his presence did offer some hope, given that the last place he was in was Mexico; either the Monterey mission had been a success, or Drew had become so insufferable to his fellow guardians that he had to be taken out. If I'm honest, both possibilities shared an equal probability, but I couldn't stop the hope that the truth lay in the former. "This better be good."

"Sorry, Drew. Is Croft about?" I asked, deciding to take the lead on this one.

Drew yawned, not bothering to turn away, but I really couldn't blame him for that. "He'll be back soon: he's on the phone with some Alchemist about the update on Court. Apparently, the bitter bastards have finally concluded that this is an issue and now worth their time." He rubbed his eyes before allowing his palms to fall down his face and cradle under his chin, so he could prop himself up on his elbows and fully looked at the screen. A smile crept across his face. "Sorry to disappoint: Monterey is still operational. Don't lie, I knew what you were thinking."

My heart sank a little, but I didn't let it show. "Unfortunate. Are you close?"

He scrunched up his face a little. "Not too sure - Mexico is littered with so many gangs that narrowing down to just one is like trying to find a needle in a needle-stack. I'm only here to give an update as we've had to shut down communications due to a severe case of tapping."

"Ah, yes…" Vincent mused aloud. "City, '91." Hamlet groaned while Ibrahim chuckled. Clearly an inside joke.

Drew squinted a little at the screen. "I thought there were only four of you?" he said and his frown thickened.

"We expanded." I said with a little shrug.

Drew continued to stare at the screen. "You sure you can trust them?"

"We are here, you know?" Vincent said, giving him a little wave.

"Now, now, Charles," Hamlet interjected, "he is right to be wary: particularly on case as important as this."

Vincent shrugged. "I deny this not, but it would be nice for him to wait until we depart from earshot."

"Hey, I'm still here, you know." Drew said with irritation, evidently not picking up on the little game that was being played with him. He wasn't the sharpest tool in the shed, but I'd put his present obliviousness down to sleep deprivation.

It was at that point that Croft came in. He looked the same as he always did: trim and soignée, it looked as though he was ready to take on the world. But the bags that sagged under his eyes told me of his exhaustion; throughout the entire mission, I am not sure if Hans Croft actually slept, even for a moment.

"Hathaway? Is everything okay?" he asked, not bothering with formalities.

"Better: we have good news, sir," I said.

"The best, perhaps." Vincent added with a wink.

I rolled my eyes at his jest, while Croft continued to look upon us all with his usual serious countenance. "Am I going to have to beat it out of you?"

"Sorry, sir," I said, sending a quick glare towards Vincent. "We have the location of the base."

And with that, Drew promptly woke up: he jolted awake and sat straight. Croft too looked like he had just suffered an unprecedented cardiac arrest. "You are serious?"

"As a measure," Ibrahim said with a smile. "We have both the address and possible means of attack, which we thought best to run by you."

"Indeed," Croft responded, a little too quickly for his normal composure. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Harriet's smile as she caught the glee of both Croft and Drew. Our eyes met and her smile grew. _Oh yes, this was good._ I thought. For the rest of the day, we spent time deciding upon our plan of action, including assessing every possible exit strategy and one that even took us into Bulgaria if things got really bad. But we were confident that that was not going to happen - for the first time, we had the upper hand. Even with Mexico still proving difficult, knocking out two of the three supply chains would substantially weaken the group - they would be isolated and on our turf: we knew the Royal Court, much better than any of them could have learnt in the past few weeks. This was it…

 _La Luz_ would not know what hit them…

* * *

 **Hello my dear comrades in Comrade!**

 **How are guys? I hope this finds you well :) Apologies for the slight filler-like chapter (I am a sucker for building up tension), but the next chapter is well on its way. I am on half term at the minute so lots of time to be writing - I am so excited :D The plot is picking up, lads - next chapter we'll be breaking in! Haha!**

 **Also, big shout out to KatieIvashkov - thank you so much! Please don't feel worried about correcting me on language mishaps (I actually had a little debate about** _ **le**_ **and** _ **la renard**_ **as 'fox' in French is feminine, according to my dictionary that is, but the character is male, so I wasn't sure which one to put :3) While writing this story, I actually realised that having a GCSE in a language (Spanish in this case) means absolutely nothing xD They taught us for the exam, rather than to actually speak which I think is such a shame as I genuinely love the language.**

 **Alas, I do hope you all enjoyed this one. I'll update as soon as I can, but do keep me posted on what you think :D**

 **As ever, here's wishing you every blessing,  
** **Mariarty**


	20. Chapter 20

**I do not own Vampire Academy or anything surrounding it (but I do own this plot :D)  
Also, not quite sure if this is required but better safe than sorry, I do not own the following lines from William Shakespeare's King Lear [Act 1 Scene 2] - quotation is used as an addition to the plot, no copyright intended**

* * *

-114 IsBPO-

' **W** el **l t** h **en,**

 **L** eg **it** i **m** a **t** e Edga **r** , **I** mus **t hav** e y **ou** r land:

 **O** ur **fa** t **he** r' **s** l **o** ve is **to** t **h** e b **a** st **a** rd **Edm** u **nd**

As **to t** h'leg **iti** ma **te**. **F** i **ne** wo **rd** , ' **l** eg **it** im **a** te'!

 **W** el **l** **my l** e **g** iti **m** ate, **i** f **t** his **l** et **te** r speed,

 **An** d **m** y in **ve** nt **i** on thriv **e** , Edm **un** d t **he** ba **se**

 **S** hall **t** op **t** h'le **gitim** ate-: **I** gr **o** w, I p **rosp** er;

Now, **g** ods, **st** and **u** p f **o** r bast **ar** ds!'

-866 IsBPO-

* * *

JPOV

21:03. That was when it started.

Nine o'clock had edged towards us like the evening tide: slow and careful. After informing Croft of Vincent's revelation and deriving the best plan we could, Emyl and I set to work giving Vincent and Ibrahim a quick-fire Guardian lesson in Hamlet's enclosed back yard. For slightly obvious reasons, not all of the Moroi were going to go in on this ambush, but just throwing Emyl and I in was an equally idiotic idea. Thus, we compromised: since Ibrahim had proved himself capable of dealing with violent and deadly situations more than once throughout this little excursion, and not just using his quick wit, he was coming with us, along with everyone's favourite Brit. Honestly, I was sceptical allowing them anywhere near the base, as was Emyl. But our concerns were promptly shut down by the persuasive techniques employed by all four of our Moroi counterparts. Originally, they had all wanted to assist, but Emyl had dismissed that in an instant, refusing to hear Harriet's plight on how she could be of use. This led to a rather lengthy argument between the pair, which only with Hamlet suggesting that he and Harriet remain back, as the man of God didn't fancy a full frontal ambush either. This still left the problem of Vincent and Ibrahim, but I knew there was no reasoning with those two, so decided it would be best to give them some survival techniques. I was, however, quite surprised at how easily Croft was going along with it, given that leading Moroi into direct and certain danger was definitely breaking at least twelve of the fundamental Guardian rules; but, I think, really by this point all gloves were off and we were just going for it - to hell with the established edict.

The plan was simple: or at least, as simple as a plan could be in this situation. The four of us would split into pairs, Moroi and Dhampirs, and approach the base from one of the concealed backdoors and the secret underfloor one. With Vincent's address, Croft had woken up the surveillance team (who weren't particularly happy to be dragged from their slumber, but I don't think anyone cared) and had them bring up an image and floor plan of the warehouse. Hamlet had then crossed referenced it with the data he had on the city and we saw our way in:

The base was located within the city, but rather neatly tucked away in a few side streets, making it quiet enough to undergo terrorist activities and movements without detection whilst also holding a key central position making all of the above easier. This, rather paradoxically, managed to both complicate and make easier our role too - allowing us the cover of night and the crowds to slip in undetected, but also creating a stage of potential casualties as well as means of escape for them. They also had the benefit of the height as thanks to Ruth's satellite hack, we knew there were strategic look-out posts on the roof that faced all four corners of the building, looking out upon the streets below and across the city's skyline.

There was no denying it: these guys were good.

What we had, however, was the element of surprise combined with the glorious notion of back-up. With Hamlet and Harriet effectively sitting this one out, Hamlet was in charge of getting word out to their organisation's Istanbul contacts. They would be given the address after we had started our silent assault, so that we could cause as much damage as possible with minimal detection, before the brute force came in to storm the place.

So that was our mission: weaken it and then destroy it. In all, everything was good. There was just one small problem.

"So, who's going with who?"

When Emyl asked that question, he was blissfully ignorant over its significance. So, to an extent was Ibrahim.

Vincent however, had no excuse.

"Well, given the notable tension of our last encounter, I feel it is probably best to keep you two," the plucky Brit gestured between Ibrahim and Emyl, "separate. I fell Janine may have more of an incentive to keep Abe alive..."

Oh, I could have killed him.

Mercifully, his talent with wording made neither Emyl nor, _thank God,_ Ibrahim suspect the double meaning that laced his words. Instead, they provoked a light chuckle from Ibrahim. "I am sure Guardian Burlatsky would not intentionally try to kill me."

"Still," Vincent said, his gaze drifting a little towards me, "best be on the safe side."

Emyl just looked a little bemused. "You know, I am capable of keeping my personal grievances in check."

Vincent shrugged. "I don't doubt it, I just thought it would make things easier." At to that, Emyl had no argument. He conceded and Vincent shot me a devious grin before wandering towards Emyl who had left the garden in search, no doubt, of Harriet.

Ibrahim cleared his throat. "Nice to see he considers our relationship a 'personal grievance'."

I rolled my eyes. "Can you blame him?"

He placed his hand over his heart and gaped over-dramatically. "Guardian Hathaway!? Please don't tell me that you _too_ find my company burdensome!"

I couldn't help it, but I snorted very unattractively in my attempt to stop myself laughing. "Burdensome perhaps, but never boring."

He scowled a little. "Gee, I feel so much better."

"Sorry," I apologised. "Do you think your ego can spare itself this blow - your footing was wrong." I said, pointing down at his left leg.

He cast his gaze down and frowned. "It seems Burlatsky's teaching is perhaps not as fabulous as he believes it to be." his eyes flicked up to mine.

I scowled. "And you really wondered why he called you a burden?"

He smirked a little, his eyes softening into amusement. "My dear Janine, to turn a phrase, I am messing with you."

I narrowed my eyes. "Not appreciated."

"Noted."

"Right, when you're going in for a right hook, you need to put your leg here." I said, showing him. It was an interesting setting we found ourselves in: while the sun was still up, I could see it dipping down as the day had passed, acting as an eerie reminder of what was going to come when night finally came. However, the sheer beauty of Hamlet's perfectly kept garden, with its neat arrangement of complementing fiery flowers placed humbly within layers of rich green so they sat like candles in a room (seriously, how did he have time to manage that one), was a contrast enough to act as a somewhat calming element and really just lift the weight over the situation as a whole.

Ibrahim watched me closely and attempted to mimic. "So, like this…"

I blinked. "No, not even-what are you doing?" I said, taking a step back to get a better view on the situation.

He looked down. "What you did." he said, bemused.

"No, you look like you're doing some sort of ballet routine!" I replied.

He straightened up and countered. "Well, it works for me."

I placed my hands on my hips. "Need I remind you which of us has the appropriate training…" I said flatly.

He folded his arms across his chest. "Need _I_ remind you which of us had the more experience in this particular field..."

I had to stop myself gaping. "Oh, you do _not_ have grounds to trump me on this one."

"I am still alive." He pointed out.

"Honestly, I am putting that down to divine intervention." I quipped without missing a beat, provoking a slight smirk on his behalf, but he kept it under control. "Now, would you please listen to me and sort out your left foot."

"I am not convinced there is something to sort out." he said, redoing his swing with his bizarre footing.

"Right, hold it there." I commanded. He froze in his position and I crouched down in front of him, yanking his left foot forward.

"Hey!" He called out, stumbling a little.

"Oh, quit moaning," I said and pulled his foot, now considerably lighter as he had shift his weight back, to the correct place. "Now try."

He swung, not quite waiting for me to get out the way nor anticipating my rising up. On instinct, I held out my hand and caught his fist before it could his me in the face. His face, once filled with irritation, immediately changed to one of concern. "Are you alright?" He asked.

I was still watching my hand as though if I let go, his fist would suddenly come flying out again and actually hit me. With a flick of my eyes, I looked back at him and replied casually. "Yeah, fine."

The tension in his body lifted a little and I could see the makings of his smirk, but did not quite reach his eyes. "Okay, do you suppose I could have my hand back?"

I blinked. "Oh, crap, sorry." I said, letting go. He brought his fist down and cradled it in his other hand. I found myself asking, "Are you alright?" before I could fully comprehend what was happening.

He smiled and waved me off. "I'll be fine, you just have quite a forceful grip, Guardian Hathaway."

I grimaced a little. "Sorry. Do you want to try it again?"

He nodded. "I think that may be best."

This time, I did manage to get out of the way and he did manage to do it properly. Well, reasonably so: his foot, out of habit, was edging back towards his original position, but I managed to kick him out of it after the twenty-third try.

"Good enough?" he asked, panting a little but rather pathetically trying to cover it up.

I shrugged. "I suppose."

He sighed, exaggerating the sound out to make completely sure I understood his displeasure. "Excellent: I can now punch someone to your ridiculously high standards."

I rolled my eyes and crossed my arms across my chest. " _My_ 'high standards' are proven to be more effective. Didn't you feel the difference?" I asked.

"Janine," he said flatly, "as long as the other chap gets on the floor, I am not fussy about how he got there."

I tutted. I _actually_ tutted. Shaking my head and turning away from him to head back inside, I found some middle ground. "Well, now you can get him there more effectively. Or at least you can, _hypothetically_."

I could almost feel his jaw drop. "Guardian Hathaway, I am perfectly capable of neutralizing an enemy!" I snorted, not really that fussed that he heard me. Though instead of responding _verbally_ , he remained silent and I genuinely thought I had gotten away with it.

That was until a vine wrapped round my waist and pulled me back, tying me to a large tree.

I grunted on the impact and I found Ibrahim's smug expression as he approached me, placing his arms either side and boxing me in to prove his point. This new proximity gave me a clear look of his proud expression but there was a certain weariness behind it. I sighed. "Please try not to use up all your energy proving me wrong."

He cocked a brow, "Ah, so you concede."

I scowled. "Sure, now let me out."

He paused, inclining his head a little. "You know, I am quite enjoying having the upper hand." He said with his signature smirk.

I deepened my displeasure. "I am going to smack you."

His smile grew. "And how exactly do you plan on doing that?" he asked, whispering in my ear. I cast my gaze down and, indeed, my hands were restrained by the coiled plant. But he had missed one thing...

I gave him a smirk of my own and craned my head round so I could whisper my reply in his ear. "You forgot about my knee…" I trailed off, not needed to say anything more.

Ibrahim raised his brows and looked down, before surrendering. "It appears I have."

I nodded. "You going to let me out now."

"I think that may be best." And with that he stepped back; he waved his hand and the natural roping agent slithered away, allowing me freedom from the tree.

I straightened myself out and walked over to him, closing the gap between us so much so that I had to look up a little to meet his eyes. "A little health warning for you: don't do that again." I said, slapping him lightly on the cheek.

He flinched a little, but still smiled. "Noted." his voice was soft and low and drew my attention to just how close we actually were. Blinking rapidly, I stepped back, gave him one more scowl before walking into the house and leaving him standing out there.

I was now stressed out for an entirely different reason, one that had nothing to do with the impending life-threatening ambush that was happening in less than three hours. I forced myself to walk through the expansive corridors of Hamlet's home as my every internal instinct was telling me to go back and either punch Ibrahim or run back into his embrace, even if that entailed being tied to a tree again. I wasn't exactly sure where I was heading, but when I saw Vincent's frame in the kitchen, I spun around and made for any other place; I did not need him walking about in the fantasy I had running through my head. _Dear God_ , I thought as I marched up the stairs; I felt like a fourteen year-old all over again-

"Janine?"

I staggered to a halt. "Harriet." I said as I met her perplexed expression. "Hey."

"Hi," she said with a frown. "You okay?"

"I little overwhelmed, I guess." That was an understatement, but it wasn't a lie.

"The mission?"

"Yeah." That was a lie. Though arguably not entirely, but my current emotional issues surrounding Ibrahim were winning over the emotional issues surrounding _La Luz._

She smiled, ignorant still of my inner dilemma. "Yeah, me too. It's all a bit much, huh?"

I nodded, deciding that it was fruitless dwelling on what was probably just a minor crush when there were actual problems in my world. "How you holding up?" I asked, turning my attention to see if there was anything I could do to alleviate at least one of our burdens. "Didn't Emyl come here earlier?"

She shook her head. "No, he is teaching Vincent some shooting techniques. I was just lounging with Hamlet, but he had to make a phone call or something." she said, sitting down on the landing with her legs dangling down on the stairs. I was quick to join her. "I'm fine though. You must be terrified." she said, her kind eyes travelling to meet mine with a lingering fear and trepidation of what they would find.

I shrugged. "A little, but I'm mostly okay. Did you ask Croft about your mother?" When Emyl, Ibrahim, Vincent and I had left, Hamlet and Harriet kept the line to Croft open, so that Harriet could enquire after her mother.

She sighed, softly and sadly. "She's still at Court. So are Uncle Robert and Aunt Tamara, Guardian Croft believes. They are saying there are around 200 of them still there." she said, looking somewhat wistfully off.

Without overthinking it, I placed my arm around my friend, pulling her close. "We'll get them: we'll shut down this base, fly back to Pennsylvania and get them back free, destroying an international terrorist group along the way."

She laughed a little. "You make it sound so easy."

"Call it a gift."

That provoked more laughter and we sat there for a moment just enjoying each other's company. Hamlet, coming in from the front door, walked passed the staircase and did a double take to see us sitting there. After enquiring after our wellbeing, he invited us down for dinner before we set ourselves into motion.

Two hours later, we were in motion and on our way to the base…

It was a comparatively cold night, though it held nothing on the chill experienced first in Britain, then - and even more so - in Russia. In fact, I rather enjoyed the slightly cooler atmosphere given its contrast against the heating up that my rapidly beating heart was doing to my body. I had long since accepted that most of the stuff I was taught at St Vlads held nothing on the real world which only resulted in provoking a fear that my brain felt it could justify. Thankfully, I had stuck my Guardian mask up, so Ibrahim was none the wiser.

We had split up: myself and Ibrahim were to take the basement entrance, whilst Vincent and Emyl were going in through one of the concealed back doors. The four of us had each been given an earpiece. We were aware of the dangers of using them, particularly in their ability to be both traced and hacked, but we weren't taking any chances.

Ibrahim and I had taken cab, stopping a good few blocks away from our target and getting out to walk. Vincent and Emyl had done a similar thing, but as they were entering on the opposite side, we had taken different routes. We hadn't bothered with disguises: aside from the fact I could not bear to be put in another dress, perhaps for the rest of my life, it would be impractical. I did, however, tie a scarf round my bright ginger hair so as not to attract too much attention. Ibrahim looked as pristine as ever in his perfectly tailored suit, though this one seemed to be fitted with ample resources to move around in, lest we find ourselves in any sort of pickle.

And so we approached. I clocked the building from a way off, noting how it blended well with its surroundings yet still maintaining a notable degree of dominance. The crowds of the streets were still full, even if it was encroaching on nine in the evening, but for that I was slightly relieved. Though they did begin to dissipate the closer we got, there was still enough coverage to conceal us from the invariable look-outs on the roof. Silently, I nodded towards Ibrahim, who offered me a small smile. Together, we slipped into an alleyway, deserted mostly save the couple groping each other in the cover of darkness. I scrunched my nose and turned away, while Ibrahim just rolled his eyes. He pulled out the utility bar, and propped open the manhole, revealing the dark and dingy pit that lay beneath. I cast a quick look behind me, but the canoodling couple appeared completely oblivious to what we were doing - much to engrossed in their own activity. With a sigh followed by a deep inhale, I shrugged and pushed myself down underground.

The sewer was disgusting. Clearly not a main priority for the Istanbul City Council. From the light from above, I could see Ibrahim's face too crinkle in repulsion as he entered the dark tunnel. Using the bar to aid him, he slowly pulled back the manhole-cover until we were fully submerged in darkness.

"You did remember the torch?" he whispered. I rolled my eyes and pulled the device out my pocket, shining it in his face. "Just checking."

I shook my head and turned in the direction in which we were heading. Ibrahim followed closely behind, for once, actually sticking to the devised plan and not doing something on his own. For this, I was most grateful, but on edge all the same. We had learnt the route through the sewers by heart, so there was no need to consult a map. Not that you could, it was so cramped in there. For once, my short height was of some substantial use as I could see in the corner of my eye, Ibrahim having to duck down just so that he wouldn't hit his head on the ceiling. We remained as quiet as possible, not entirely sure just how effective the echo effect worked down here and it anyone could hear us from above, but we weren't taking any chances. Even our movements became lighter and quieter as we got closer to the warehouse, to the point where the only thing I could hear was the dripping of stale water and my own thudding heartbeat in my ears.

Obviously, the radio signal for our earpieces was going to be a little shit when we were underground, so those were promptly turned off to avoid any chance of unnecessary detection. We were to turn them on once we got inside the basement and cleared the area if necessary and make contact with Emyl and Vincent, cueing them to enter and also to give the signal back to Hamlet and Harriet to be ready with the 'S.W.A.T. team', as we were calling it. I had no idea who these people were, but apparently Ibrahim, Vincent and Hamlet knew them well and that was enough to satisfy both our little group and Croft, who's (let's face it) opinion was the important one here, so we were all good.

A flash of silver caught my eye, and I positioned my torch to make out its image: a ladder. A rusted, silver ladder leading up to the warehouse above. We were under the base. _Directly_ under it. I paused and took a moment, taking a deep breath which, with hindsight, was probably not the best idea considering the rankness of the location we were in. I cleared my throat as lightly as I could before approaching the ladder.

I was stopped by a hand on my arm. Jerking my head up, I met Ibrahim's eyes, darkened by the blackness of the sewers. "Are you alright?" I asked as quietly as I could, realising that perhaps this was a little much for him. He was, after all, an excellent actor and proficient in the art of concealing true emotions - perhaps he had been hiding his fear all along.

He fumbled a bit before composing himself. "I'm fine, it's just should we fail-"

"We won't." I assured him as softly as I could. Whatever emotional issues I had going on in my head about the man, I was not about to deny him hope and a little bit of comfort, particular given our present status.

He smiled a little at my assurance. "But on the off chance that we do." he reasoned. He made to speak again, but stopped himself before resolving inwardly. "It has been a true pleasure, _Guardian_ Hathaway." he whispered.

I smiled. "Likewise, _Mr_ Mazur." I paused before deciding to add a little levity to the moment, in an effort to keep whatever fear he was concealing at bay. "Even if you did tie me to a tree."

His smile grew bold and bright, in spite of the darkness. I could tell he was struggling not to laugh, so instead he took my hand and brought it to his lips, smothering his amusement into a tender kiss. "You are a true friend, Janine." he spoke so softly, I could have missed it.

I was so taken aback by the gesture, that I could not think of what to say. Instead, I elected to spread my fingers out and entwine my hand with his. With a quick squeeze, I turned my smile into a smirk. "Okay, let's go destroy this base."

He responded with a smirk of his own and at exactly 21:03, we went in.

* * *

I eased open the trapdoor, poking my head above ground to survey the room like periscope on a submarine. It was empty. The darkened room showed no signs of life, such that the only thing that moved were the scattered dust particles. I lifted the door further to confirm my suspicion, before fully opening it and stepping out.

"Clear." I whispered.

Ibrahim poked his head out looking out and around like a perplexed meerkat. "Why'd you turn off the torch?" he asked, as he pushed himself to his feet.

"I may as well send off a flare: it'll attract too much attention." I said, casting my gaze round the room. I had replaced the torch in my hand with a gun. The cool metal of my stake was rubbing against my ankle and I had another gun hidden in my back pocket. Ibrahim was too armed, but I couldn't tell you how many he had or indeed where he had put them. I watched as he edged round the room, looking for any signs of movement. He negotiated the darkness well: we were surrounded by boxes, crates more accurately. I dreaded to think what was in them. Ibrahim too eyed them with some concern. With one final sweep, he finally concluded that the basement was empty. Clearly used as a place of storage under a complex defensive building, _La Luz_ probably didn't want to waste valuable man-power guarding a room very unlikely to be breached.

Shame, really.

Well, regardless of this, we still had a plan to stick to. I flipped the switch and turned my radio earpiece on. Ibrahim did the same. As clearly as I could, I whispered into the set, "Hathaway to Burlatsky, clear."

After a few moments, I got a response. _"Copy that."_ Emyl's voice too was lowered, but distinct enough to know that he had gotten the message.

This was it. They were going in.

With a glance towards Ibrahim, I gestured him behind me. He obeyed. Edging slowly around, I located and headed towards the door out of the basement. The stairs were in the corner and we approached with trepidation, expecting someone to jump out at any moment. It was only when we were standing inches away from the door and no-one had still come after us, that we thought that no-one probably would. I turned my attention to the door. Testing the handle, I found that it did not electrify me or blow the whole room up. With a firmer grip, I hooked my palm over the handle and pushed it down. It opened to a large expanse: an empty one at that. There were the makings of life all around - someone had clearly been in here, perhaps even moments ago. The lights were off and remained so - none of this motion-sensor activated nonsense, for which I was most relieved. The room was filled with cabinets that littered the side, more crates and a large desk. Curiosity drew me towards it, with Ibrahim in tow; what lay on top of it was a mess of papers with a mix of numbers and letters.

"Coordinates." Ibrahim said, nodding to the array of symbols at the bottom of each piece of paper.

"These are orders." I said upon realising.

Ibrahim nodded his affirmation, before casting his frowning gaze around the rest of the room, watching the door especially to see if anyone was coming. "We should probably move." he suggested and I agreed wholeheartedly. We left everything as it was, finding no value in taking what was essentially a shopping list with no address or reference to where they were going. That, clearly, was stored elsewhere. We wandered through the room and towards the door, passing the crates along the way. Ibrahim's frown increased as he continued to inspect the aforementioned objects, before refocusing on the next part.

We were lucky to have not run into anyone...yet. I had a feeling our luck was about to run out. Tentatively, I touched the handle and pushed the door open, catching sight of something that made me reach for my gun and want to fire. A camera. The walls were thick and the room was small so the subsequent echo would be minimal, but would've bound to have woken someone up. Therefore, I was almost thankful when Ibrahim pulled me back and instead sent a shockwave from his hand through the wall to shake the hanging camera off and smash against the floor.

I raised a brow. "You couldn't have mentioned that earlier?"

He shrugged. "Didn't come up."

I rolled my eyes and we pressed on. The room, aside from the camera was much like the other: quiet, empty and dark. Clearly, the occupants were not so concerned about the lower floors. We weren't finding anything that we could use to cause chaos and shut them down: no computers or anything to that effect which had concrete and invaluable resources that would allow for a complete production standstill. I suspected that they were located on higher floors though and we were just pottering about the storage facilities. Hopefully, Emyl and Vincent were having more luck in that department.

There were two doors leading on from that room: one that lead back down and another that went outward. Without much pondering, both Ibrahim and I mutually agreed on the latter. Again, with painful hesitancy, I eased open the door. The sight that lay before me all but took my breath away: a large expanse, clearly central and was roofed only on the edges as the central block when on for what I imagined was the roof. Around it saw rings of metal railing and grated flooring going up for at least nine floors. I widened my eyes, I took a look up. The sheer vastness of the place was not conveyed well by the outside appearance. But in spite of its magnitude, there was one glaring thing that made both of our hearts stop for a moment:

It was empty.

Abandoned. The entire warehouse was a dark and eerie void, with crates and stock littered about aimlessly. It was clearly the right place, the huge amount of supply and the receipts from down below proved that Vincent was not wrong - but they had gone. No-one was here. They had all gone.

They knew.

They had known we were coming. The realisation hit Ibrahim at the same time and we locked eyes. We needed to get out of here, _fast_. No time to think how. No time to think why. We needed to flee. _La Luz_ were not the type to leave any witnesses behind, so our lives were very much in danger. I made to inform our counter-parts, but Emyl had beat me to it.

" _Janine, get out! It is a tra-"_

And as he was cut off, a hail of bullets came down from above. Instinctively, I shoved Ibrahim into the wall, my body covering his as the bullets rained down behind us in a storm to conquer them all. Forget Noah and the ark, or Lear's bold defiance of the wrathful storm - this was the apocalypse thundering down in a violent crash in a single minute. The noise was deafening and the dread fierce. I could feel Ibrahim's heartbeat against my own, both in rapid fear. There was no point in denying it. I locked on his gaze and he found mine, before he glanced back the way we came.

But we couldn't go back. The door that lead to the previous rooms was too exposed and someone from above was shooting directly at it. We had wandered a little too far and now were forced to find a new way out. I noted the latter embedded on the wall beside us; it was all I could do to remember we were still technically below street level. We had no choice. We had to go up.

I signalled my intent to Ibrahim and he nodded, keeping a solid grip on my waist as we edged towards the ladder. Given the thundering noise around us, there was no way I could speak loud enough so he would here. Thus, I met his eyes gaze, begging him to stay put. His eyes clouded with something I knew not and his whole body tensed, but he nodded all the same.

It was with great reluctance that I let go, and began to climb up. The sound getting worse with every step. I reached the top of the ladder and thus the first floor, standing with my back to the wall and my feet on the metal grate, now not only hearing the gunfire, but feeling it too in the vibration underfoot. It was painful to say the least, but I wasn't dead. With a look down, I gestured Ibrahim come up. He complied instantly, scrambling carefully up the ladder to stand by me. We remained there for a second, our backs as far against the wall as we could manage. I turned my head, grabbing Ibrahim's hand and slowly shifted along the side, wincing frequently at the painful sound. _How do they still have so many bullets!?_ I thought, before remembering that this was their bloody supply base.

Itching towards a door, I kicked it open, only to reveal trio of Dhampirs standing with machine guns. Ducking back, I managed to dodge their fire. Ibrahim honestly looked as though he could pass out at any point, but that was not the biggest issue of the moment. One of the Dhampirs came out the door and, without thinking, I shot him in the head. He fell down like a bag of potatoes and I had no time to process the trauma of just shooting someone at point-blank range as another came out. I repeated the action, before jumping over the now two bodies and back into the room to eliminate the other man. It was a swift and cold execution, but I had no time to fool around. I backed up and yanked Ibrahim in. He slapped himself and shook out his trembling fear in sharp inhales.

Just then, the door to my right burst open and three more vampire came out. But these weren't Dhampirs…

They were Strigoi.

Two men and a woman - they eyed Ibrahim with a lust and fury that seemed unmatched by anything I knew. I shoved him behind me, and fired my gun, knowing it wouldn't do much to harm them, but would successfully disorientate them. The woman came first - darting towards me with the same intensity as those bullets, she aimed straight for my neck. Clearly as youth, I was quick to yank out my stake and strike her in her heart. She gurgled and growled but eventually fell limp. I pulled my stake out and struck the other who had dared to come too close. He was stronger and recoiled back, not allowing me the full kill. The other came bounding towards me too and I struggled to fend both off, without exposing Ibrahim to danger. Hand to hand was getting me nowhere, particularly as they were both much stronger than me. So I decided to use their height against them - sliding on my knees and slicing their legs with my stake they both collapsed with calliopean screams. I plunged my stake into the first and kicked the second away. The first ceased moving instantly, but the second got back on his feet and hissed. Behind me, I heard the door open and the characteristic grunts of more Strigoi filled the room. For a second, I looked towards Ibrahim. He was on the floor and breathing loudly. He caught my eyes and glanced behind him, seeing the new troop coming in. I saw them too and my heart clutched at the realisation:

I couldn't do it.

I couldn't stop them. Not all of them. With an enraged fury I despatched of the second, but the new five that flooded in would be too much, I knew. But I wasn't going to let Ibrahim _die_ without a fight. With a growl of my own, I pulled him back behind me - towards the door the first three had come from. Standing, just about, before them and re-clutched my stake a made to defend.

But instead, I fell.

The ground beneath me shook and it took me a moment to realise that the whole room was shaking. The Strigoi staggered, all uneasing on the ground, the collapsed and could not get up. I, struggling to stand anyway, was quick to fall, but found myself caught by Ibrahim, his arms cradling around me as his hand rested on the ground, causing it to rupture. It was a brief distraction, but that is all I needed. As soon as he let go, I jumped to my feet, pulling him up too. Sprinting, I half led, half dragged the Moroi into the room where the three had come. The five, considerably more disorientated, took their time getting to their feet, but when they did it was too late. I had slammed shut the door and Ibrahim and I pushed a large crate in front of it in such a way that no-one was getting in. They slammed against the door as we pushed another crate to reinforce it. I could see Ibrahim's exhaustion as he gulped for air. I desperately wished there was something I could do as I frantically searched for an exit. There was another door to my left but God only knew where it led. I was beginning to panic, and panic badly, when suddenly there was a quite literal change in the air…

It became heavier, more dense. Ibrahim noticed it too as he no longer needed to take huge gulps to keep himself oxygenated.

"What is that!?" I said, clutching my throat.

Ibrahim frowned deeply for a moment before revelation hit him like a bullet. "It's Vincent."

" _Vincent!?_ "

"He's using air magic." he said, as though that would be all the information I needed.

"What for?" I asked. I knew that the Brit could feasibly, if a little more weakly, wield all the elements, but why he would choose to use air magic at this time made no sense.

Well, apparently it did to Ibrahim. "Oxygen, Janine."

"Oxygen? Why?"

He looked at me dead in the eye. "What needs oxygen to _burn_?"

And then it hit me.

 _Fire._

There was no defeating this swarm, not by hand that is. With bullets flying down from the ceiling and Strigoi and other Dhampirs lurking in the shadows, the four of us had no chance. Where the bloody 'S.W.A.T. team' was, I had no idea. But, it would be rather understandable to have heard the massive gunfire and decided against suicide.

Therefore, there was only one way we were getting out of this and Vincent had thought of it: he was going to blow it up.

So much for a simple computer hack and ambush, this was old school, dangerous, but effective all the same. The only issue is, we had to get out. With the Strigoi still raging at our barricaded door, the only way out was through the other. I tightened my grip on my stake, and retook Ibrahim's hand. "Stay close." I said, leading him behind me. He nodded, the oxygen acting as an unintended aid, but I could still see sparks of his weariness. With one quick prayer upward, I ran opened the door...

The room was empty. Thank the bloody Lord: the room was empty! I could've cried. Not only was it empty, but there was a window and that meant, a way out. I could hear the scrapes of the crates in the other room, telling me that the Strigoi were breaking loose. I sprung into action, running up to one of the crates, I yanked off the lid. Inside lay a vast arsenal of machine guns. I smirked, picking one up and smashing it against the glass. The whole pane shattered on impact, dissolving into thick, sharp shards. Regripping Ibrahim's hand, I dragged us both out. The street was empty and deserted, with the distant sound of sirens in the background; evidently the mass gunfire had scared away any passersby. The image of the couple canoodling entered my head, and I wondered if they had fled. God, I hope so. Because as soon as we touched the tarmac, I made us run. Run far. Run fast. My legs screamed at me to stop and I couldn't imagine Ibrahim's were holding up well.

But it was a bloody good thing that we did run. Because, not moments after we had left, the whole warehouse went up in flames…

* * *

 **Muhahaha! It's all I have to say ;)**


	21. Chapter 21

**Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Academy or anything surrounding it (but I do own this plot :D)**

* * *

JPOV

My head hurt.

I could hear nothing. It was that feeling when something is so loud, that everything is just turned to silence and all that's left is a dreadful ringing - like a heart monitor gone dead. I grimaced. I winced. I tried to move. Rolling on my head and feeling the blood smear against my forehead as though the ground we a callous brush.

"Janine…" I had never heard my name so broken, so fractured. "Janine, please, get up." It was a plea if ever I heard one. I blinked, forcing my eyes into focus. The world remained blurred for a second, before his face came into it…

The man I loved.

 _Oh, shit._ I grunted and forced myself upward, pushing up on my forearms. Ibrahim, seeing my attempt, was quick to aid. A vague memory hit me: _Own battles, mate._ I groaned again, clearly my heart was having a field day given that my brain was currently incapacitated. I shifted myself onto my backside and looked back over at the warehouse.

Well, what was left it.

I was speechless, stunned to silence: the imposing building now stood as an empty carcass; a burning shell. The smoke rose up high into the night, casting a dark shadow over the building. It was gone. _Destroyed._ Exactly what we had set out to do, if a little improvised. Regardless though, we had done it. But my first thought was not of glee or joy or relief - rather heart-wrenching despair:

Where were Emyl and Vincent?

It was a thought, a question, which had also dawned on Ibrahim; his gaze was fixed on the burning, metallic corpse before us, as though he were haunted by it. Vincent had just brought down a building with his _mind._ Given that Ibrahim got exhausted just making a room shake, I dreaded to think what state Vincent was in. More to the point, he had to be close, if not _in_ , the building to cause a rupture like that.

And from the looks of it, no-one had survived.

" _Emyl…_ " I said his name like a prayer. My closest friend, bar _none._ With him came Harriet and all the subsequent childhood joy, however limited it was, that I had experienced. Grown up together, stood by each other; fallen out, fought and reconciled more times than I could count.

And he could now be dead…

We had lost contact as soon as our earpieces went, without any vague knowledge of where they were. Perhaps they had only just entered? Or were they the reason for the storm of bullets? Any evidence of their actions stood in a burning brim of metal, slowly crumbling into the ground beneath it: it was impossible to say. And it _killed_ me not knowing.

"Janine!" Ibrahim suddenly snapped.

I shot my head round to see a Strigoi staggering towards us like something out of a zombie apocalypse. He was missing an arm and badly burned, but as was their nature, the burns were healing quickly. I wasn't sure if Strigoi could grow back limbs, but I wasn't willing to find out. Stumbling to my feet, I patted my leg to find my stake. Fear struck me as I realised it wasn't there. Glancing around quickly, I saw it lying a few feet away. The Strigoi saw it too and used my distraction to aim for Ibrahim. He, now having had a few experiences with these bastards, was ready with his palms against the ground, and I could see him eying the tree that resided in the neighbouring back garden. Refusing to let him drain himself even more, I snatched up my stake and bolted for the Strigoi. He shoved me back, causing me to stumble even more given the blood loss and general disorientation I was experiencing. Yet, I fought against it - forcing my body forward, I slammed into the creature, knocking it off course. He growled, abandoning his plight for Ibrahim and focusing on me.

He spat something in a language I couldn't detect. Was it Turkish? It didn't sound it, yet anything would've sounded demonically subverted in his blackened tongue. I tightened my grip on my stake as slashed him. He dodged, using his imbalance at the loss of his arm to swing his other with such a momentum that threw me to the ground. I grunted on impact and he came on top of me, baring his teeth like a viper. I brought my legs up and bucked, kicking him back. He hissed but held his position. I squirmed, scrambled and slashed, but he kept me in place: trapped.

" _Buenas noches, señorita bonita,"_ he said, his voice cold and detached; the words coming out like a haunted echo.

 _Not Turkish then._ I thought and then mentally slapped myself for getting distracted. I jerked my knee to where I knew it would hurt and the wince on his face told me it did. He let go of his hold on my right arm and I used it to slit his cheek. He howled, and pulled back a little, his neck exposed for a moment before a thick knot of ivy wrapped around it in coiled murder - tightening and cutting off his airways. He gasped and gurgled and I used it to reposition my stake and drive it into his heart. The sound he made was sickening and his stench filled my nose as he collapsed on top of me, suffocating me to the point of almost vomiting. I heaved him off me and immediately sought to find Ibrahim.

Surrounded by ripped ivy and stained cobble, I found him curled up and hissing through his teeth; his whole body trembled as it tilted on the very threshold of seizing:

 _Whatever he was about to say...was lost as a spasm ran through his body, causing him to collapse further into the wet ground. He lurched: simultaneously gasping and gagging._

The memory flashed in my head. The battle at Court. The Earth magic. The woods. _The blood._ I could see him fighting it, his eyes _begging_ me not to do what my instincts told me to. I hesitated, the tip of my stake brushing against my already rather battered palm. But we were spared the looming argument as a sound of movement from the collapsing warehouse brought our reality slamming right back at us.

"Get up." I said, pushing myself to my feet and pulling him up with me. He grunted in protest, his feet and entire body barely managing to stay attached to each other, let alone cooperating to make him stand up. We took a step forward and he cried out in pain: his body convulsing in on itself. "Oh, you stupid son of a bitch." I hissed, as I dragged him along further. He knew what overuse of his magic would do to him, and yet he did it anyway. That wasn't to say I wasn't grateful for his quite probably saving my life, but that, at that particular moment, I wasn't seeing the upside.

We were miles _, miles_ , away from Hamlet's home with no contacts, no money and the ever-growing threat of a scattered terrorist sect roaming the streets. I could see the human authorities approaching the scene from another street, so I lead Ibrahim the other way. We couldn't go to a human hospital, for slightly obvious reasons, so we were going to have to find sanctuary elsewhere.

And we were going to have to do it quickly.

Ibrahim convulsed again, biting down on his lip to stop himself no doubt screaming. His face was growing deathly pale and paler by the moment. I heaved him along, my own strength significantly dwindling. If a Strigoi or another Dhampir member of _La Luz_ appeared then, I was sure we'd both be dead. As it was, our path was clear of just about every life-form. The Strigoi and Dhampir were either dead or in hiding and the humans had fled like frightened ants in direct sunlight. I lead us deeper into the alleys, the darkened corners, of Istanbul - acutely aware of the danger, but balancing it up with the danger of being seen by the unknowing human population and the inevitable scandal that would cause. I was vaguely aware of the multiple escape plans we had formulated before this had actually happened, but given that we had assumed that this wouldn't occur, they did not commit to my memory in the same way as the ambush plan had. I was painfully aware that I was just wandering clueless in search of anything, _anywhere_ , I could go to get Ibrahim safe.

 _They come first._

"..." Ibrahim mumbled something completely incoherent to me.

"Hmm? Ibrahim, what is it?" I said, encouraging him to speak, to stay awake.

He winced and groaned and on after a good few moments managed to utter out the word: "...left…"

I looked up towards the path and turned left. Before lay a brightly lit sign reading: 'HOTEL' in vertical letters. I smiled and held Ibrahim tighter. How he had managed to work out first, where we were and second, where the nearest hotel was all while on the verge of a complete seizure was beyond me. He was truly incredible.

"Come on, we are nearly there." I whispered, edging him forward. Even through all his pain, I could see the smile he tried to give me. We approached the door and I turned so to push the door open with my back whilst not letting go of Ibrahim. With some difficulty, we stumbled in, he collapsing on the carpeted floor to his knee and me falling down next to him. The clerk behind the desk looked up from his book and then frowned deeply, his eyes increasing their alarm with every moment that passed. I opened my mouth to speak, but Ibrahim beat me to it.

" _Alek...krŭv…"_

In an instant, the somewhat alarmed man's face turned serious and he spun on his heels, rushing behind him to open what appeared to be a filing cabinet, but was actually a fridge. He pulled out a transparent packet containing a thick red substance. _Blood._

He tossed it to me and I sliced the top open, putting it near Ibrahim's face. He latched his lips around it, sucking hard and fast. The packet was emptied in seconds and I glanced back to the man.

"You got another one?" I said, rather more forcefully than intended.

He nodded sharply and tossed me another. I repeated the action and saw the colour flood back into Ibrahim's cheeks. He stopped trembling and his breathing regained a certain regularity. I was so overjoyed that I didn't care how ridiculous my relieved laugh sounded or the fact that I pulled him closer to me, running my bruised and bloody fingers through his equally messed-up hair. He let the pack drop to the floor and met my eyes. For a moment we knelt there, locked and unmoving. Such was his draw, I could feel myself falling towards him, desiring nothing more than to remain in his arms and he in mine. But it was a moment over far too quickly.

"You need another?" the man - Alek? - called out. I blinked out of Ibrahim's gaze and turned to the man.

"Maybe for later." I replied, rising to my feet. I could feel Ibrahim watching me as he remained on the floor.

Alek nodded and tossed me another. "You good, Abe?"

It didn't surprise me, not in the slightest, that Ibrahim knew this man. It did surprise me a little that we had managed to stumble, quite by accident, into this particular hotel that just so happened to be run by one of Ibrahim's friends and that this friend just happened to have an emergency supply of blood behind the front desk, but I wasn't complaining.

There was a slight pause in his reply that made me turn around, but he managed to regain his composure. "Much better, thank you, Alek."  
The man nodded. "Anything you need, you have." he said with a firm smile. He looked not much older than me, but not quite as old as Ibrahim. He was skinny and a little malnourished, but you could see that he kept himself, or at least tried to, well. His accent was thick, but not Turkish; definitely somewhere in Eastern Europe though.

"Thank you, Alek," Ibrahim said again, this time with more of his former tone and charm.

"You in that building?" Alek asked, his expression cast in a concerned frown between the pair of us.

Ibrahim nodded, pushing himself to his feet only to collapse onto the lobby couch. "I'm afraid so. Is your phone line still working?"

Alek shook his head. "No phones. The streets closed too."

Ibrahim nodded. This was to be expected: the human response to any situation was first to stop anything else so as not to create further issue/distraction. It was annoying, but it worked for them, so I wasn't going to interfere.

So it looked like we were staying here. Honestly, I could've been worse. Alek seemed nice enough and, with the way he was looking at Ibrahim in one of such awe that could be comparable to a moth's fascination with the flame, I figured he was one to be trusted. He also kept a very nice place, despite the slightly dodgy location. He was quick to usher us into what he called his best room. While Ibrahim wandered in, Alek caught my arm and handed me another packet of blood.

"Make sure he okay." he said.

I offered him a small smile. "Always."

Alek did not break his stoic demeanour, but nodded all the same. After handing me the keys, he made his way back down the stairs. I clutched the cyclical metal of the keyring and flex my fingers against it, attempting to weed out the stiffness they were facing. Were they broken? Probably. Did I care? No.

I walked into the room just as Ibrahim flopped on the bed. I smiled, entertained by the way he sank into the sheets and sighed in pleasure as he did. I quickly scanned the room for the other bed, but found none. Clearly Alek had got the wrong idea. Rolling my eyes, I sighed. _Guess I'll be taking the couch._ Deciding to act upon that, I wandered over to the long, cream-cushioned surface that resided by the window. Even with the small glance that I did take, the sight outside said window was enough to make me frown.

"Where is Alek going?" I asked, watching the man cautiously stride out of the hotel upon locking the front door and through the streets.

"Trying to contact Hamlet." Ibrahim said, not bothering to remove his face from the sheets so it came out as a muffled mess, barely coherent.

I continued to frown. "He doesn't have to do that..."

Ibrahim groaned a little as he sat, turning his body to face me. "He believes he should, despite my continued efforts to dissuade him." Seeing my expression fully, he smiled softly and elaborated. "His father was one of the most wanted men in Bulgaria - where Alek was born and the authorities were after him and Alek for a very long time. His father ran some dodgy underground organisation, I don't know many of the details, but I know Alek wanted no part of it, so Vince and I smuggled him out of Bulgaria and set him up under Hamlet's watch, and he has felt indebted to us every since." He said, a sorrow tainting his tone at the mention of Vincent's name.

I swallowed as my earlier concerns surround both Emyl and Vincent rose to sit uncomfortably in my throat. "Do...do you think…?" I couldn't finish that.

Ibrahim cast me a soft look, tender and uncritical. "I cannot say, and thus will not; certainty and assertion of unbiased rationality and probability in this instance will only bring more pain, so I prefer not to think on it too much and instead hope." his voice cracked a little at the end. With a long, shaky sigh, he regained his composure and retook my gaze.

I nodded only slightly, tensing my jaw whilst desperately trying not to cry; I could feel the salted misery building in my eyes, so I looked up to try and dry them out. Such was my focus, I did not see Ibrahim rise from where he had been sitting, only felt as his arms wrapped around me. Yet I did not push him away, as I once would have done, instead sank into his embrace, allowing my hands to tentatively snake around his waist and draw him closer.

"Janine," he whispered, his voice like an echo in the wind.

"Hmm?" I hummed, finding no energy to manage anything more.

"As much as I am enjoying this, I am rather aware of how in need I am of a shower…" he said.

I smiled. "I wasn't going to say anything…"

He pulled back and frowned. "You are hardly much better, young lady."

I cocked a sly brow. "Ever the charmer."

He smirked. "Honest?" He countered with a little shrug.

I narrowed my eyes. "Don't try and get out of this." I said. "Go have a shower."

He raised both his eyebrows and did a little bow. "Yes, ma'am."

I scowled a little and he smiled, before hobbling towards the bathroom. He was in there a good half hour, so I decided to sort out my sleeping arrangement. I didn't have much faith that I _would_ sleep, but it gave me something to do. Picking up one of the pillows from the bed, I dumped it down on end and went over to the wardrobe. Opening it up, I saw a safe in the bottom corner, next to a small fridge. Without bothering to take the spare blankets, I made my way back to the couch and picked up the two blood packets, figuring that they would probably keep better in the cold.

Ibrahim emerged, dressed again in his suit, minus the blazer (which was slung over his right shoulder). I don't think I ever saw him as disarrayed as that moment, but I doubted if he cared.

I clambered into the cubicle, having only paused to lock the bathroom door behind me and quickly undress; revelling in the feeling of the warm water running over my bruised and beaten body, I probably stayed in there longer than I should've really, but I wasn't too fussed. Plus, it meant that when I did come out, there was absolutely no trace of lingering blood stained on and debris from the blast lodged in either my skin or my hair. I wrapped a towel around my body, not really enjoying the prospect of having to put my dirty and battle-worn clothes back on and thus prolonging it as long as possible. I let my hair run loose; the unruly curls subsided a little under the weight of the water. I glanced at my reflection in the mirror: the girl that looked back seemed like a stranger to me. She was pale, ginger and with a lingering look of disdain that I all recognised, but her hardened expression and almost despairing gaze caught me by surprise. She seemed simultaneously stronger and weaker, both physically and mentally: a walking paradox.

I sighed. No point in nostalgic analysis as it wasn't going to achieve anything remotely productive. Instead, I picked up my stake and went to the sink, running the water to clean off the blood and uncategorised other bodily parts when something caught my eye. A flash of something metallic skated through my vision, reflected from its place in the sink plughole. I frowned and sought closer inspection. When my fingers failed, I went in with the tip of my stake, dislodging it up and bringing it towards the light. My eyes widened upon the realisation of what it was:

 _A bullet._

Battered, deformed, but still clearly a bullet. I didn't really think. Spinning on my heels, I unlocked the door and ran into the main part of the hotel room. Ibrahim was standing with his bare back towards me. He had removed his shirt and was inspecting his right shoulder. Upon seeing me, he fumbled. "Ah, Janine…" he said, turning towards me with his removed shirt over his shoulder.

I clenched my jaw and marched over to him, swiping the shirt away to reveal a surprisingly large wound on his collarbone region. I groaned. Ibrahim flinched as I began my inspection. It hadn't gone all the way through, that was clear from the fact that he still had the bullet. I pushed him back on his sternum and onto the bed, my left hand covering the wound to stop the bleeding while my right reached for one of the pillows. Quickly, I dismembered it: stripping the case off and putting said case against the bleeding wound in place of my hand.

"Hold." I said, my authoritative tone leaving no room for arguing. Thankfully, Ibrahim complied without protest and I went in search of a first-aid kit.

Honestly, what was he thinking!? Not telling me about a _bullet wound._ Trying to fix it himself. He was, for want of a better word, insane. There was some clear mental affliction afflicting in that man's head, for no-one in their right mind would decide that this particular course of action was the most suitable. What did he think - that I wouldn't a gaping hole in his person? I was, after all, a _guardian._ I noticed things. Perception was a key part of doing what I did and yet he, in all his wisdom, presumed that he could just cover this with a _white_ shirt, scrunching it in such a fashion as to hide the bloody evidence.

Moron. Absolute fucking moron.

I located the first aid kit in the bed side cabinet and strode back over to him. He had remained facing the open bathroom door, not looking towards me even as I approached. I resisted the scowl and instead decided to administer my limited medical knowledge on the situation, not helped by the fact that everything in the bloody first aid kit was in Turkish.

" _Jesus Christ!_ " he cursed as I applied the antiseptic wipe to the side of his wound after mistakenly picking up a packeted blister plaster. Well that certainly got his attention. He cast a wayward glance towards me, but upon seeing my raised eyebrows sighed and complied.

Once I had wiped the wound clean, with my patient doing his darndest to conceal every wince and flinch his body involuntarily made in response to the alcoholic sting, I began slowly wrapping a bandage around it, threading it under his shoulder and tying it neatly at the end. Convinced that it would not move, I let go and stepped back a little.

"Idiot." I said, flatly and too the point.

He sighed, but did little to hide the slight irritation which my character assessment provoked. "Yes, do forgive me for not running pitifully into your arms, _Guardian_ Hathaway." He replied with a tad more snark than I could tolerate.

"What did you honestly expect you would do?" I snapped, the anger within me flaring up, having me fighting for control.

I could see his composure too falter, but he held onto it like a lifeline. "Perhaps something independent of your scrutiny?" he suggested. "You know, subordination is rarely a fond feeling for me."

"And you chose a _bullet_ wound to prove your masculinity? Bullshit."

"That is _not_ what I said."

"It is exactly what you said!" I scoffed. Really, I wanted to tear my hair out, scream, shout: the lot. How could he not see the fact that this could have _killed_ him? Good God! This man was _infuriating_! If my whole argument wasn't based around it, I would've probably killed him then and there.

"Do not put words in my mouth, Hathaway." he said, his habitual threatening instinct, one which I had seen first with Torres and then with Guerra, surfacing and directed at me.

Big mistake.

I stepped closer to him. Even sitting down, he managed to match my height, but that didn't deter me. "Do not threaten me, Mazur." I warned, my voice deadly cold. "I am not one of your pathetic little 'villains' who will cower at your words, so don't you dare threaten me." I locked my gaze with his. I could see the fire burning within his eyes; he acted controlled, put up a masked facade as well as I did, but I could see the volcano that was erupting within him - the magma boiling in his dark and petrifying stare. I held it for a blip, long enough to remember that I was just standing before him in just a towel with my hair dripping down my shoulders. Clenching my jaw, I turned away and walked back to the bathroom, satisfied that this conversation was over.

Evidently, it was not.

"No."

I halted and span on my heels. "No?"

Ibrahim stood. "No." he repeated, with a strength and conviction that surpassed any prior display I had stood witness to. "No, you are not one of my 'villains', as you so eloquently describe: you are my friend, which means you are not allowed to dictate why or how I do things."

I raised my eyebrows and crossed my arms over my chest. "Even when it could cause some form of harm to you?" _And a lot more beside that,_ I added silently.

He laughed, but there was no mirth to it. Running both his hands through his hair, he looked to the sky as if in search of some higher being to come and bring some sense into that moment. "See, that right there," he snapped, turning and pointing to me. All composure gone. "You _scold._ You _lecture._ I helped save your life earlier! Never once did I hear a word of thanks, instead I got cursing and rebuke like I was a child who ran into the bloody road!"

"You could have killed yourself doing what you did!?" Gloves off now, if he wasn't holding back then neither was I.

"As could you!" he yelled, his arms wide and his eyes of similar breadth.

"It is my job: my duty." I growled.

He snapped his head towards me. In three quick strides, he was inches from my face. "No it is not. It is a twisted and immoral social convention that has people, _good_ people, dying every single for nothing other than elitist self-satisfaction." he said, hissing a little.

I tensed and glowered at him. "You want my thanks, fine. Have it."

He pulled back and clenched his teeth together. Exhaling angrily, his gaze broke with mine to look anywhere and everywhere else. "I don't want your gratitude, Janine!" He shouted.

"Yeah, well I don't want your lunacy, but that doesn't appear to be going anywhere soon." I snapped. I sighed and tried to calm myself, but to not much avail. "Look, can we possibly continue whatever this," I gestured between us, "is at some other point. I am really not in the mood as I'm not sure you fully noticed, but my best friend could be dead."

He glared over at me. "Oh, you are not the only one who could have lost someone today, Guardian Hathaway."

I winced a little; it was a low blow on its own, but I had forgotten that Vincent meant something to Ibrahim, perhaps not in the same way as Emyl had to me, but enough to make it sting. The thought of both of them sobered me up considerably. "You're right, I'm sorry - I know this must be hard for you-" I cut myself off as I heard him scoff and shake his head again. Well, so much for the sobering. "Oh, what now?"

He glanced over at me. "Why is it such a trial for you to see me as an equal? On terms of mutual respect, rather than you constantly giving yourself the role of the hero while I just fill the damsel in distress?"

"Ibrahim, that is not-"

"It is." he stated. "You tell yourself that it is because my life is somehow of more value to justify yourself, but that is exactly how you see me."

I could see that this was going to get us nowhere. "Oh, forgive me for showing a little concern for you!"

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Janine! I don't want your pity! I don't want your gratitude!" he yelled.

"Fine, what do you want!?"

"I want you!"

I did not have time to register the shock that fell upon me. Nor did I manage to utter out anything but a terse gasp in the time it took him to reach my towel-laden frame and claim my lips in his. His kiss was warm, but impassioned and all round intoxicating. I immediately sank into it. With hindsight, I suspected that he had used it as a means to shut me up, or perhaps escape from developing his comment further, but it quickly turned into something else entirely. All that pent-up anger and confusion and just general emotion I felt towards the man was sent into hyper-drive and fuelled that burning kiss. I wanted to push him, hit him, scream at him, love him and loose myself to him all at the same time and I didn't care in the slightest. It all fell into that action, that moment, that kiss.

And he matched it. He _challenged_ it. Bringing his hands under my jaw, around my neck then through my knotted and soaked curls, he forced me back until I hit the wall. I felt it not and brought him closer, my fingers running over his still bare torso, tactfully avoiding the bandage that covered his upper right side. The feel of his skin was incredible - it was neither too hard from extraneous muscle development, nor particularly soft as a result of his more privileged lifestyle, but somewhere in between: firm and downright irresistible. All my life I had spent leering with disdain towards my Dhampir and indeed Moroi schoolmates who frequently frockled in pursuits such as these, but I now had a whole new appreciation for it. I had never experienced a sensation anything like it: the feel of his lips on my, the tongue that danced on the threshold, before my need to breath became too much and I broke ever so slightly away to gasp for air. He seemed unfazed, continuing to plant his lips in a trail down my jaw and onto my neck, murmuring a sweet worship: _my darling, my love._

I leaned back and moaned, allowing my senses - heightened by my training to a point of admirable acuteness - to become immersed in the action. I relished it. I loved it. _I loved him._ The anger, the worry, it was all still there, but comforted by the rising affection. I wanted it. Perhaps it was the situation - the countless near-death contexts that we found ourselves in that I had brought us this far. Or maybe it was the situation that had prevented it from happening sooner. Either way, I did not mind, care or even stop to over-consider. Here was a man I loved, I trusted and considered my equal, no matter what he thought.

I wanted it. I wanted him. And so, for one brief moment in my life, for one unburdened night, I turned off all my mental inhibition, stimulated from an overactive and over-calculating brain and gave in to the desire of my heart…

* * *

 **Hello my dear comrades in Comr** _ **Abe**_ **(too much? :3)**

 **Well...like it? Love it? Hate it? ;) I do apologise for the delay; I actually find the more romantic scenes a little more difficult to get right, so do let me know what you think as I could really do with some notes on this one. Janine and Abe were always a couple that fascinated me in the books, hence my reasoning for writing this story, and certainly not ones to do things conventionally xD Unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately, depending on your perspective) there will be no M scene in this one. I did write one a while back for** _ **Cold as Ice**_ **but actually found it deeply uncomfortable, so have decided to pass on doing it again :/**

 **And poor Emyl and Vincent! Good gracious, I am a horrible writer! Haha! I will tell you though, we have entered perhaps my favourite part of this story and I am quite exciting to be writing it, so here's hoping good things are afoot :D**

 **And another thank you to KatieIvashkov - your language help is most appreciated :) In answer to your question, and indeed to anyone else who may be interested, I have tried to keep up with my Spanish, using Duolingo and my old textbooks and such like, as well as attempting to pick up Russian too as I find other languages absolutely beautiful, but I am completely the same xD Stuttering my way through 't-tengo dieci...ocho años y soy** **estudiante de...historia' :P**

 **So lovely to hear from you guys so please do leave a review!- I'll warn you, I am in a mood for killing characters… :^)**

 **As ever, all the best,  
Mariarty :)**


	22. Chapter 22

**Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Academy or anything surrounding it (but I do own this plot :D)**

* * *

JPOV

Shame. I expected shame. That was what you were supposed to feel, right? Yet, with the early morning sun flowing in through the uncurtained windows, which neither of us had been bothered to draw, I could not bring myself to shame. Sure, I was lying rather exposed under the sheets with Ibrahim lying beside me, similarly attired, but there was none of that feeling that made you freeze and shudder in thinking 'oh God, what have I done.'

I had woken before him, blinking for a few moments a little dazed, before the part of my brain that operated the memory faculty kicked in. Glancing over, I saw Ibrahim, still asleep in spite of the morning glow; lying on his back, he had one arm hanging off the side of the bed, with the other draped limply across his stomach. Even asleep, he managed to retain is quintessential personality that kept him both amused and cunning at the same time. I smiled, feeling the tug form across my lips and seeing nothing wrong in allowing me to enjoy the sight. I shifted onto my side to face him and further assess the situation. It is interesting how blind we are; how we see features, (eyes, nose, mouth etc) register it as a face, but then ponder no further on the matter as your mind sees no overwhelming point in continuing. But with the sun's rays seeping gold into the warmly coloured room and me without cause for immediate attention, I took the moment to really study him: the slight kink in his nose; the minute differences in the stubble that surrounded his lips; how said lips remained only slightly parted as he breathed gently in sweet sombre or indeed the subtle change in skin colour from where his skin dipped under his cheekbones or under his jaw line, mirrored by the marked creases on his neck from where it had rolled and moved in natural response. He was beautiful, perhaps not by conventional standards, but certainly to me and each little imperfection and indentation only solidified that notion further.

I considered waking him up. We probably should as whilst the drama of the explosion would still hang in the city's air for a good week or two more, it would certainly be easier to get ourselves back to Hamlet's. I wondered, nay _hoped_ , that Emyl and Vincent had made it back. Harriet would have been out of her head in worry. It was then that a pang of guilt rushed through me; to think that my worry was bad, her's was most likely doubled, and doubled again as it was her nature. Resolving, I thought it best to get up. We couldn't in this bubble, as enjoyable as it was, forever.

Yet as I turned my attention back to him, I felt that same wave of affection that had had underlined everything from the previous night; it was an almost pathetic type of pinning, but I didn't really mind it at that moment. I wanted to fall back into his embrace and listen to him whisper endearing affection into my ear: I was his and he was mine.

And then it dawned on me: I had the upper hand.

He was asleep and ergo, _defenseless._ A certain wickedness that I had no doubt picked up from him came over me and my tender smile evolved into a mischievous smirk. He was sprawled far enough away from me such that I could sneak out of the bed without disturbing him and make it all the way to the bathroom where I knew there was a container with ample room for a substantial volume of cold water. I amused myself considering at the many possible facial reactions to that particular scheme, causing me to chuckle. He stirred a little and I bit my lip. No, that would be too cruel, especially given that he was still technically recovering from a very recent bullet wound. Just before we had slept, I spent a careful amount of time gently rewrapping it in a new bandage, which had proven a little trickier than the first time as he spent the entire time planting chase, butterfly kisses against my neck. Smiling at the memory, I scooted towards his unconscious frame, stopping centimetres from him and gently bringing my hand to brush against the fabric of the bandage and skirt over his chest to rest on the dip of his collarbone. He stirred a little more and I edged my face towards his, propping myself on my elbow and leaning down towards his face. I brushed my lips on his cheek and worked my way down under his jaw. He really moved now; tilting his head upward to give me greater access for my little exploration. I smiled against his skin, the act causing a break in my mouth's rhythm against his neck.

"Mmm, don't stop…"

Evidently, it didn't go unnoticed by the subject.

I frowned, pulling back to revisit his features. His eyes were still closed, but the lazy grin told he was very much awake. "How long have you been awake?" I asked.

He sighed, a little over the top. "Long enough." he replied.

I glared at him a little and slapped his chest, provoking a deep chuckle in his throat. "Bastard." I muttered, making to flop back to my side and to reconsider getting that water.

I was stopped by his arm wrapping around me and pulling me so that I lay on my front and on top of him. "You know, I think you need to work on your pet names." he said, opening his eyes fully and smirking widely.

I decided to play along, pouting a little as I whined: "But 'bastard' suits you so well…"

He rolled his eyes, but the smile never left them. He cast them back to me as his fingertips continued to draw circles on my back when something foreign crossed his features, causing him to frown a little. "Janine, I-" he cut himself off and reconsidered. "I just, I want you to know…it wasn't..." he trailed off.

Casting a slightly puzzled expression his way, I looked up at him fully. "Ibrahim?"

He resolved. "I want you to know that this meant something to me." I could feel the tension in his body underneath me grow as he said it.

It touched me, more than I could ever hope to say, when he said that and I smiled my response. "It appears we are in agreement." I said.

His expression softened. "You are truly like no other, Janine."

The comment flattered me beyond belief and I felt the flutter that grew in my stomach, but I played it off within the bounds of my usual character. "I try." I replied with a little shrug.

He laughed. "Oh, good Lord, what have you done to me, woman!" he said with a sigh. "I do not believe I have ever been this sappy."

I grinned. "It suits you."

He shook his head. "You are not wrong there: _this_ certainly suits me." and with that he flipped us over such that he lay hovered above me, holding me tight in his embrace as his hands encircled my small frame. "I want this." he said simply.

I laughed a little. "You aren't going to propose now, are you?" I said, the humour lacing my tone.

To my utter surprise, he remained remarkably neutral at that comment. "In a way." he said. I blinked, a little panicked about what he was doing. Seeing my distress, he smiled. "Rest assured, not in that way. But I want this, Janine; I want you by my side, after all this is over." he said.

My smile returned as I realised what he meant. "Sounds nice." I whispered.

The tenderness in his expression grew. "Truly?"

"Truly." I affirmed.

He paused for a moment, watching me with his oh, so expressive eyes, before speaking again. "May I ask then, my love?"

I nodded, biting my lip a little.

He smiled. "Will you be my guardian?"

I raised my eyebrows and sucked on my lips, pretending to ponder for a moment. He shot me a playful glare and I chuckled. "I suppose someone has to keep you out of trouble."

He grinned. "Not too burdensome then…?"

"I'll get used to it," I said with a little shrug, which was a little tricky given our positioning. The tug on his lips grew and he brought them down to meet mine. I responded, but found the sensation cut short by the hiss of pain that escaped his lips. I pulled back and eyed his shoulder with no little concern.

He looked down with an irritated frown. "Well, this is going well." He muttered sarcastically.

I chuckled. "I guess this means I'm on top…" And with that, I gently pushed him back and rolled us both over.

He visually grimaced, but I could see his inward amusement. "How very emasculating."

"Alas," I said with a pitying sigh. "Poor you." I said pouting. Planting my lips to his, I gave him a chase kiss before pulling back and out of his arms.

He blinked, a little disoriented by the action. "And here I thought you cared…" he said.

I rolled my eyes. "We cannot stay in bed all day." I said flatly, wrapping the blanket around my still naked frame.

He cocked a brow. "We most certainly can."

I narrowed my eyes. "Well, we are most certainly not. We need to get back to Hamlet's." The more serious edge lilting against my casual tone.

Ibrahim, picking up on it, nodded. "Indeed, but perhaps not primarily for Hamlet's benefit, I am guessing." he said, his smile turning a little saddened.

I mirrored his change in demeanour. "She will be worried sick." I stated, not needing to mention Harriet's name for Ibrahim could well read between the lines.

He offered a small smile before reach over the phone lying on the bedside table. " _Alek?"_ He said then proceeding to speak in what I assumed was Bulgarian. Not ten minutes later, a noise at the door had me reaching for my stake. Alek merely blinked upon seeing my defensive stance, most likely more than a little confused as to how I was going to take him on while still being wrapped in a sheet.

It was then that the shame hit me.

Well, not so much shame as it was raw embarrassment as there was no subtlety in the scene before the Bulgarian man (Ibrahim's somewhat smug grin doing little to help the situation). I blushed, but Alek remained placid, extended his arms out, drawing my attention for the first time to try objects in his hands: clothes. Clean, fresh and thus void of the blood, shrapnel and God knows what else that smothered our clothes from the previous day, it provoked a joy within me that continued my previously established good mood.

"For you." He said, handing them to me but gesturing to the both of us, furthered by the fact that there was a fully tailored suit among the pile. I took them, not meeting his gaze, nodding my thanks. Alek nodded back before leaving.

I turned to Ibrahim and glared. "Well, I think that all went very well." he said, grinning madly.

"You are such an arse." I said, dumping his suit on top of him. He chuckled and started unfolding the shirt to put on. I looked down inspecting the lendings before me. "Did he just have these lying around?" I asked, looking at the pair of jeans and simple t-shirt.

Ibrahim shrugged. "Lost property, plus he has a very good eye for size." That made me shudder a little, but I was more grateful than not when I slid on the jeans and they fit reasonably well.

Yet his statement did make me frown. "He had an entire two piece suit in lost property?"

Ibrahim smiled. "Ah, no - Vincent and I kept one each here just for such emergencies."

"Of course you did." I felt silly for even asking. "Do you have them just dotted about the globe in case of a wardrobe malfunction?" I asked, teasing him a little.

He stopped with just one arm in the shirt sleeve to look over at me poignantly. "Guardian Hathaway, I trust you can infer the benefits of a properly constructed image in provoking a response tailored to that which the subject desires…"

I rolled my eyes. "Image is everything, huh?" I said.

"Not everything, but a rather useful tool nonetheless." he replied with a wink and shoving his other arm into the opposing sleeve.

Turning away and still enclothed by the sheet, I wandered into the bathroom in search of my underwear; closing the door a little, I called back, "How far is it to Hamlet's?"

"A good few hours by foot, only a couple by car," came the less than agreeable reply.

I scrunched my face up and considered; obviously the latter was the preferred option, but I wasn't sure how much of Istanbul's public transport would be still running after an explosion that could easily have been interpreted as a terror attack. I growled a little. "Alek have a car hidden away here?" It was a stupid question and overwhelmingly rhetorical, but despite the lack of reply, I could feel Ibrahim's smirk.

Feeling a lot better now appropriately attired, I picked up my clothes from the previous day and scrunched them into a ball. I considered just throwing them away, but I had never been one to waste on anything, so kept them in hand as I walked out. Ibrahim was also now fully dressed in his new suit which all but matched the one from the previous day. I laughed inwardly at the thought, but Ibrahim didn't seem to notice as he seemed immersed in the act of remaking the bed. I plonked the dirty laundry down and sought Ibrahim's former suit to put with it, finding myself blushing as I had to follow the discarded pieces like a trail of breadcrumbs to the bed. Picking them up and striding back to the pile, I halted when something feel out of his pocket. The object had me frowning and, after dumping the suit down, I went back and picked it up.

It was a necklace, of sorts: a blue rope-like piece of string with an even darker blue amulet threaded through. The amulet itself was cyclical; a clearly hand-crafted navy circle with what looked like an eye in the middle of it. It seemed so unlike Ibrahim that I was mesmerized by it, but then realised that it could have been something deeply personal and so made to hand it back.

"Sorry, this fell out…" I said, extending the object out towards him. "I didn't mean to look...I didn't know if you wanted it, or not…" I was stumbling a little and really not enjoying it.

Ibrahim quirked an eyebrow before tentatively taking the object and pausing. Without much more of a warning, he straightened up and came behind me. I, a little alarmed, made to follow him round but he held me still with a gentle touch of his hands on my arms, keeping me facing forward. I opened my mouth to speak, but felt his hands rise from their spot and place the necklace over my neck, brushing away my curls and tying it at my nape. "It is called a _nazar_ ," he whispered, "it means 'eye' and it is believed to protect against the 'evil eye'. I bought it on the day we first found out about Guerra and intended to give it to you, but we got a little sidetracked..." he said, planting a soft kiss to my neck. "You had done so much for me, and this was my mediocre attempt at repaying you: a seal to say that I'll protect you as much as you me, even if you don't believe it."

"Ibrahim…" my voice had caught in my throat.

He smiled against my skin. "What? Janine Hathaway without a thing to say?"

A difficult as it was for me to admit, he was right: I was stunned speechless, to the point where my only outward sign of the gratitude I felt came in the manifestation of turning around, still in his arms, and reclaiming his kiss. It was the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for me; the limited affection from my mother through my infancy had sealed the mould for disappointing expectation I had for the rest of my life. Sure, birthdays happened, but no-one had ever just gave me something on a whim. It wasn't even the gift, it was the motivation that had brought about the wave of speechlessness and subsequent intensity into the kiss that followed. I was fully ready to lose myself in his embrace, but was prevented from doing so by an unnerving sound:

Footsteps. More importantly, _two_ sets of footsteps.

Now I wasn't sure if Alek had a friend or another guest round, but I wasn't taking any chances, not with Ibrahim's life. I broke away from him, sprinting towards the bedside table and grabbing my stake from the wooden construction, forcing him behind me and sinking into an offensive position.

"Well, this seems a little counter-intuitive…" Ibrahim whispered.

I shot him a quick look of placidity. "Next time, you can be the hero." I said flatly, glad that my speechlessness was only momentary.

He chuckled. "I'll hold you to that."

I pursed my lips but was spared the reply by the knock on the door and the movement of the handle. Tensing up, I readied myself for whatever came through that threshold…

"Jenny!"

I taped, dropping my stake and slamming into his chest. "Emyl, oh my God!" He held me tightly and neither of us could be persuaded to separate.

"I thought you were dead." He said, his voice trembling a little.

I held on for a moment before pulling away and stepping back. "As I you. How did you get out?"

Emyl smiled a little, sheepish and out of character. "We ran pretty quickly; Vince used the airshafts for his little trick, but we didn't know if you were out…" he broke a little. Gone was the placid mask and facade of strength and passivity: what remained was a shell of pure vulnerability and humanity. "Jenny, it killed me thinking you were dead, both of you," he said, glancing up at Ibrahim who nodded his respected reply. "And knowing that I could have had something to do with it…"

I shook my head. "You completed the mission - you and Vincent, you brought down the base."

"But at what cost?" Emyl quipped. "Vince and I have been running about every safe house, motel, hotel and any other contact he had in the area. And every time we came back empty, I felt my heart shatter that little bit more. You are my best friend, Jenny." He said plainly. Emyl was not one for emotional displays, it was something we had in common, but this had shaken him. Shaken him more than I had ever seen, to the point where I could see the question in his eyes. _They come first._ A given rule and one we'd both accepted, but this whole thing had sparked the doubt over our forced way of life. _Why_ did they come first? Procreation aside, why was it that we had to die for them to live such a charmed existence. The lavishness of the Ivahkov party flooded back into my vision and stirred me to a more unsettled disposition. And I could see the same thing occurring within Emyl.

"Bloody hell!" We were spared further consideration on the matter by the entrance of one rather eccentric Brit. Vincent had come in straight through the door, probably having just been caught up with Alek as was his ever conversational nature; he was, much like Emyl, a little worse for wear, but even more so as he doubled over himself, shielding his eyes for a moment and turning away as though he were blinded. I could see Ibrahim rolling his eyes, but I wasn't so sure he was joking.

"Vince, you alright, mate?" Emyl asked, stepping towards him.

He looked back, blinking rapidly before smiling widely. "Wonderful. But perhaps not quite as Janine here appears to be." he said with a little wink.

I paled considerably. _Shit._

Vincent continued to grin even through Emyl's confused expression. Ibrahim, for perhaps the only time that I knew him, looked as though he were blushing, but concealed it artfully with a turn of his head and a clearing of his throat.

"We were just heading back towards Hamlet's." he said, attempting to change the conversation.

"Sure you were." Vincent said, still fucking grinning.

Gone was the feeling of horror that he might be dead: I was going to kill him.

Emyl continued to scan the room, attempting to assess the matter, but to not much avail if his unchanging expression was any indicator. "Yeah, we haven't been able to contact them." Emyl decided to follow Ibrahim's lead and get back on topic.

"Did they not pick up?" I asked, befuddled a little.

"Oh, no - the blast knocked them out." Emyl clarified.

I nodded with a small smile.

"That appears to be a city-wide condition," Ibrahim added.

"And human tendency for panic will have closed off all public transport." Vincent, having composed himself, finally joined the conversation. His expression, while still somewhat amused, took on his more serious form. Running his fingers through his hair, he addressed Ibrahim. "Does E-J still drive the Polo?"

Ibrahim frowned and considered for a moment. "I thought he moved to New Zealand?"

"Did he?" Vincent said, "Blimey. Right, well there goes that one."

"Doesn't Alex drove?" Emyl asked.

"He was sixteen when we smuggled him out and since he's here illegally, it wasn't really on the cards." Ibrahim said.

"Also his name is Alek." Vincent added and received an eye roll from Emyl.

"Well how about we start on foot and see if we cannae find another mode of transport as we go." I offered, figuring it was best to actually do what we could do rather than argue about what we couldn't.

"Cannae?" Vincent said, with a slight smile.

"Sorry, can't." I translated, assuming that was what he meant.

Vincent shook his head. "No, no - I was just marvelling. I rather enjoy your random Scottish outbursts." He said chuckling a little. "A true unexpected pleasure, but you are indeed correct; I fear dear Harriet may be beside herself with concern."

At the mention of Harriet, Emyl perked up and began rallying us all out the door, but was halted by Ibrahim's pondering.

"You alright, Abe?" Vincent said, as he stood in the threshold of our room, looking back at the unmoving Moroi.

"Ibrahim?" I said in a lower voice, stepping towards him carefully as his furrowed brow told me he was deep in thought, not necessarily good.

"Sorry, something is bothering me and I can't seem to shake it." He said. Vincent frowned and came back into the room. Emyl poked his head through the door, concerned but unwilling delay for longer than necessary.

"The base." Vincent guessed, his small smile indicating that he too was suffering from a similar sentiment.

"How did they know?" He said, his inquiry including both Emyl and myself. "How could they have the knowledge of what we were going to do - you had come specifically to avoid such a situation." His gaze turned back to Vincent.

"Perhaps Torres could have told them…" I suggested, not particularly believing it myself.

"With _le renard_ leering over him? Highly improbable." Vincent said, a little solemn. "Do you suppose that they keep that level of security at all times?"

Emyl shook his head. "Way too hard to manage."

"Plus, this was specific." I said. "Premeditated - they knew exactly how many of us there were and when we were going to advance."

"Someone must have tipped them off," Ibrahim stated.

"Who though?" a deep frown crossed upon Emyl as he spoke. "There were only about six of us that knew, plus Croft when we called him. Could be one of the Guardians in Crofts' elite?"

"That managed to get a message all the way to Istanbul before nightfall?" I said, sceptical. Also _very_ concerned as the only two people we spoke to were Croft and Drew, neither of which I wanted to believe were capable of something like this.

Vincent shrugged a little. "Tight, but not entirely impossible."

"Look, we're getting away from ourselves here," I said, uncomfortable with the thoughts that were swirling in my head regarding those who I trusted and even cared for deeply. "Let's just head back to Hamlet's and sort it out there."

"Good call." Emyl said, jumping up from his lean against the doorframe and darting out the door.

Neither Ibrahim nor Vincent looked entirely chuffed with the inconclusive outcome of the conversation, but Emyl's actions did give them some levity. "Well, he certainly did not need to be told twice." Vincent said with a little chuckle. He looked back at me and squinted again, wincing away.

I sighed. "Right, out with it. What is wrong with you?"

"Many things, Janine, but this particular instance is not wholly my fault." he said with a slight frown.

"What are you talking about, Charles?" Ibrahim said, using his nickname as an undoubtable attempt to lighten the mood from the dismal thoughts that someone we knew could have betrayed us on perhaps the largest scale possible whilst picking up his blazer and sliding it on.

"As talented as you both are at concealing information, you unfortunately cannot hide the glare of your auras." Vincent said, giving us a knowing glance. "Particularly as they are presently blinding me. Now, I've seen happiness in a person, but not like this. I am struggling to turn it off here."

I shot him a scowl. "Try harder."

"Your sympathy is appreciated." He quipped, rubbing his temples before running his hand in his hair. "Right, I'm going before my headache gets any worse." And with that he walked out.

I rolled my eyes. "He does know we are following him, right?" I said, turning to Ibrahim. He chuckled and I exhaled. "Has he always been such an ass?"

"'Tis his nature, I am afraid. A life of cricket, tea and strict decorum has rendered him quite the ass." Ibrahim said, the amusement returning to his features.

I shook my head and put on my boots, strapping my stake to my hip and gun to my ankle. Hamlet had given me enough to last me for years, clearly taking no chances, but I still continued to use them sparingly. Walking out of the room, we exited the hotel; Alek bid us farewell and I could see the unease in his expression. I don't think I could ever grasp just how much he felt indebted to the two Moroi with me that day nor comprehend the level of protectiveness that came with it.

We lead out: Vincent and Ibrahim in front whilst Emyl and I covered the back, watching anything and everything around us. The blast made have shaken us, but it had inadvertently boosted our already hyper-sensitive conditioning. Not to mention the events of the previous night provoked an even deeper desire to keep Ibrahim alive. Let's be rational here: I wasn't so besotted that if anything were to happen to him, that I would completely lose all ability to function, but it certainly would not be comfortable. Far from it. But I loved him - there was no escaping it. Some might argue that it presented a conflict of interest and to them I say: bollocks. If anything, it only made me _more_ motivated to do my job. Nothing and no-one was getting near that man, I was going to make damned sure of that.

Oh, and Vincent too.

Did it bother me that he knew? A little. I mean, it wasn't entirely his fault that he possessed the ability to see people's emotions and read their minds, but I wasn't overly convinced that this could not be controlled. People have sex all the time and even more people are considered happy - he couldn't be 'blinded' by everyone, right? It simply wasn't feasible. Perhaps he was just so used to poking in Ibrahim's and I's heads that it had just become second nature: annoying, but still not entirely his fault.

"Jenny, is everything alright?" Emyl's voice startled me a little, but I was composed quickly enough to frown in good time.

"Yeah...well, I mean, as much as they could be considering…" I didn't bother finishing.

He paused for a bit, still walking, but pondering a little. "Did something happen between you and Abe?"

I blinked. _Oh, shit, not him too!_ This wasn't going well at all. How on Earth could they all know!?

"W-what…?"

"No, it doesn't matter if it did. I mean, I'm still not keen on him, but upon reflection," he paused again and looked towards the Moroi in question, "quite a lot of reflection," he amended, "I suppose he isn't so bad, but it was just when Vincent was talking earlier... I don't know."

While he was shrugging, I was planning - how exactly did I go about this? I wanted to be honest, truly I did, but I doubted Emyl, even with the slightly more chilled mindset he had, would be best pleased with the knowledge that while he was running about worried sick with his assigned partner, I was engaging in something rather different with mine.

So I decided to tell him part of it.

"Ibrahim asked me to be his guardian." I said.

Emyl looked over, a little surprised, but mostly neutral as he took a moment to process the new information. "You said yes, I'm guessing."

I nodded. "I want to. Despite all, well this," I gestured around, but meant the multitudinous amount of shit we had gone through over the past month or so. "I feel like a guardian. I feel like I am actually protecting people, instead of just standing by a pillar and watching the world go on around me." That was entirely true. I was done: done being a Court Guardian, with the schedules and shifts and shadow-like existence. Was the life of a Personal Guardian more dangerous? Could get me killed earlier? Possibly drive me insane with being stuck with one person until essentially 'death do us part'? Yes, entirely. But at least it was _personal._ I would be a person, not just a shadow against the wall. It was what I had imagined being a guardian would be like and it was an added bonus that I could do it with the man that I had fallen in love with. And if Ibrahim and I should not work out? An uneasy thought, but at least I would have had a chance to experience love, to be able to connect with someone at a deeper level, to live a life worthy of its name.

I would miss Harriet and Emyl, Croft, Drew and Ruth, but Ibrahim was not so heartless as to cut me off entirely. And perhaps it was time I started to enjoy my time on the planet; started to live properly, free from social conventions and institutionalised dictations.

I could see a smile form on Emyl's face as I spoke, clearly sharing in a similar notion. I would always cherish the fact that we could connect like that. "Good for you, Jenny." he said. "Good for you."

...

It would have been a great moment. It would have been the perfect one. But that all changed in a matter of minutes.

...

First it was the boy: a young lad, no more that sixteen, who came bolting from behind us, calling out Ibrahim and Vincent's names. Then came Alek, following rapidly behind. They both wore a look of despair, of horror, across the faces, as though they had just walked into hell itself.

I had reached for my weapon, and Emyl did too, but Vincent's signal told us it was alright. He addressed the boy in Turkish while Ibrahim spoke to Alek in Bulgarian. It was a flurry of language and incoherence - I couldn't make anything out, but the panic and concern was high. As the two spoke, Ibrahim and Vincent got paler and paler. Sharing a glance with each other, they then turned to us.

"What is it?" Emyl said, looking between all four parties.

There was no response, they all stood silent, until the young lad stepped forward and handed a piece of paper to us. I took it in hand and began to read.

It was note. A message. A warning. Coded and then decoded: a Shakespearean verse written with Bacon's brand of substitution ciphers. King Lear. The traitor, the _bastard_ : Edmund's famous soliloquy reduced to a few Earth-shattering words:

 **Tonight at Nine Two** **D** **Two** **M Spirit** **and** **Earth** **Be Prepared**

And the address - the signator - the traitor in our group.

Reverend Paul Hamlet.

* * *

 **:0**

 **Hello :) I do hope this finds you well, my dear comrades in Comrade. What did ya think? Like it? Love it? Hate it? Did anyone see this coming? I'd be very interested to know. I've been dropping a few hints, but hopefully nothing too obvious :3 Oh, man! This is exciting, no?**

 **I do apologise for the slight delay, but you can probably understand why I wanted to get this one right ;) But don't you worry chaps: I am writing the next one as you read this now and there is even more excitement to come…muhahaha!**

 **For now, though, I shall have to leave you. And so, here's wishing you every blessing,  
Mariarty**


	23. Chapter 23

**Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Academy or anything surrounding it (but I do own this plot :D)**

* * *

JPOV

My first thought was Harriet.

Upon reading Hamlet's name at the bottom of that scrap, all I could think was that Harriet was there with him. She was with a member of _La Luz:_ the group that had terrorised her way of life, shattered her security and were still holding her mother captive. And clearly Hamlet was no ordinary member: he had reach and power over this group, that much was clear. It suddenly all clicked very quickly - why wasn't there any backup at the base? Hamlet hadn't called them. Why had there been a delay in meeting the guy? His 'operation' didn't exist - he was covering his tracks and warning the sect of our approach. He was the one who had passed on Vincent's message; all the trouble the Brit had tool in getting here, to deliver Torres' information covertly, was entirely fruitless as he had essentially given it to them hand-delivered.

And then there was Harriet.

Was she still even alive? There was a chance. Hamlet wasn't stupid: he may not have counted on Vincent's little stunt, nor on the fact that we had actually succeeded. He was undoubtedly pissed about that. But he was intelligent enough to know not to assume that we had perished. If, _if_ , Harriet was still alive, Hamlet would wait at least 24 hours to be sure we were actually dead to dispose of her. Maybe even 48. We had the upper hand of knowing about Hamlet, but I wasn't sure how far that went in our favour.

We had moved quickly, Ibrahim turning to the lad and inquiring something in Turkish. He was met with a nod, and within seconds the six of us were running back through the streets, deserted on account of the blast so that the only sound that echoed through were the stomps of our feet against the cobbled ground. The boy was fast, darting quickly round the bends and alleys, resulting in it being quite a trial to keep up. When we reached a main road the sounds of the human police force were still distant but becoming more pronounced. The boy jumped towards a lone parked car, abandoned by the side of the street. He quickly picked the lock and then hot-wired the engine. I started up.

He hopped out the car and walked towards Ibrahim, who just managed to catch his breath. Reaching into his suit, he pulled out a paper note and handed it to the boy.

"Good work, Joseph." He said, still panting a little.

"Thank you, Mr Abe." The boy said, smiling a little at the note in his hand. With a pat on Alek's shoulder, Ibrahim made his way towards the car. Alek nodded and gestured for the boy to follow him and they stepped back, monitoring the area. The rest of us piled in.

Ibrahim had insisted on driving and I really wasn't in the mood for arguing. Since I was the smaller Guardian, I sat in the back with Vincent as Emyl road shotgun. Powering through the streets of Istanbul, Ibrah clearly cared little for the speed limit. For the most part, our journey remained unobstructed, but when traffic did appear, Ibrahim abruptly switched lane, direction or street entirely.

We approached the opposing side of Istanbul within the hour. Each minute saw Emyl glance down at the clock, willing us the move faster. There wasn't much conversation. Actually, there was none. Ibrahim and Vincent were a mix of brooding and seething, mentally kicking themselves for not seeing through Hamlet, but also deeply hurt by the betrayal of their friend, now fiend. Ibrahim was transferring most of his inner battle into driving, while Vincent sat in eerie silence. I knew he was beating himself silly: he had the ability to see inside people's heads, inside their minds, and while he couldn't fully turn off his ability to read auras, loyalty spurred from comradery kept him from fully poking about their heads. If he had, he would have known.

I wish I could voice my support, offer him any sort of comfort. But my throat remained dry and my tongue unmoving - shocked into silence. I shared Emyl's agitation and felt on the edge of tears. My hand drifted up towards the _nazar_. It was literally less than two hours ago that I had been happy - awoken next to the man I loved, agreed to be his guardian and he returning the promise of protection sealed in a beautiful piece of Turkish culture. It was almost impressive how quickly it had fallen apart, but there was no room to dwell over it: we had to get Harriet and run.

That was about the extent of the plan. As I said, not much talking. But given how well all our other fully developed, argued and thought out plans had been, I wasn't opposing the idea that this much more instinctive approach was the better option. I wasn't even thinking when I opened the car door upon seeing the faintest glimpse of Hamlet's home; Ibrahim hadn't even stopped driving when I landed on the pavement and ran to the door, pounding against it.

It opened on its own and I stepped in. Hamlet's house had always been beautiful, but this new knowledge had twisted it into a shallow den of gluttony and greed. I powered on through the halls, looking in every nook and cranny, before reaching the living room and slamming into my dear friend.

"Janine!" she screamed. Her eyes widened and she leapt from the floor where she had sprawled herself out, her long, strawberry blonde locks fanned out against the cream of the carpet. She wore her pretty, floral dress: the one that she and Emyl had bought whilst Ibrahim and I were in Russia. But it was her expression that caught the eye; It was of pure relief and sheer joy, one that I had never seen before or since.

But I couldn't relish the reunion. I grabbed her hand and pulled her towards the door.

"Janine?" she blinked, flustered in such a way that caused her to stumble as she walked.

"We need to go, Harriet. _Now_." I said, willing her to move faster before-

We were stopped as the very man we were fleeing stood in the doorway to his living room.

"Guardian Hathaway?" he said, the surprise clear on his face.

I did not speak, but pulled Harriet behind me and stepped back into a defensive stance.

"Janine…?" Harriet whimpered a little, casting her brilliant blue gaze on my face as I looked towards Hamlet. Think what you will, but Harriet Conta was always perceptive others; often, she was blinded by affection and her kind heart, but it was a talent worthy of deep recognition.

Hamlet, not so much. "Janine, I don't understand… Are you alright? Where are the others?" the reverend asked with a deep frown creasing his brow.

It was at that moment that Ibrahim walked in.

Hamlet turned to face him. "Ah, Abe!" He said greeted with a smile.

Ibrahim's reply was a forceful right hook. Its impact (partly down to my amendment of his footing, but this was hardly the time to gloat) sent Hamlet staggering back. I took the opportunity and bolted for the door, pushing Harriet behind Ibrahim, we made to make a swift exit as Hamlet, now fully aware of what we knew, pushed himself to his feet.

Emyl brought Harriet close to his chest while Vincent pushed through the crowd. Ibrahim halted him with his palm. "Vincent, don't." he said, using his real and full name to ensure his attention was grabbed.

Vincent only responded with a glare. "I have to know." And with that, he shouldered his way passed Ibrahim and into the room. "Why, Paul? Why did you do it?"

Hamlet groaned, having just gotten back on his feet. With an irritated swipe on his chest, he straightened his cassock out and glared over at the Moroi. "You're the telepath, why don't figure it out." he said, his voice taking a bitter undertone.

Vincent remained unmoving. "Do me this one courtesy, after all: we have been friends for over a decade."

"Oh, _Charles_ ," he said with a sigh, sneering over Vincent's pseudonym. "That privileged life you did lead keeps you so far from reality. Some of us actually have to work our way up, and that takes a bit of stomach and grit."

"Money, that was it?" Vincent said with scoff. "Bloody hell, man. And you were supposed to be a man of the cloth."

Hamlet chuckled. "Oh this," he said holding up his cassock, "please: everyone knows faith can provide the perfect mask."

I felt like I was going to be sick. And perhaps with time, I could understand: the temptation of the underground world was beyond alluring and Hamlet had spent a lot of time surrounded by it. But in that moment, I could not see Paul Hamlet, the man: only a nameless _thing_ that repulsed me.

Vincent sighed, running his fingers through his hair, he then shook his head. "Well I must thank you then, Paul; I know now what the colour of betrayal is in an aura. Should come in handy, no doubt." he stared at him for a moment, a sickly smile forming on his lips. " _To be or not to be_ indeed; you chose the madness. How very poetic."

Hamlet rolled his eyes and tutted. "You always were repugnantly melodramatic. Though I will concede, you little stint at our headquarters was unexpected." he said.

Vincent chuckled. "Ah, yes. You failed then. I cannot imagine that going down well with _Abuela._ "

"Oh, you mistake me," Hamlet said. "My primary mission wasn't to prevent you getting to the base…" he trailed off a little before stating simply: "I am to eliminate you altogether."

And with that, he struck: summoning a vast inferno from the fireplace, he ignited the room and showed us hell. Emyl wasted no time bolting out through the corridor and hallways before the blaze could shut his exit, Harriet in toe. The rest of us, not so lucky, as Hamlet's flames encircled us leaving us trapped in the room. I bent down and yanked my gun free from my calf with the full intention of aiming at Hamlet's forehead, but Vincent beat me to it; there was a slight delay, but the water soon came tumbling in, flooding through from the kitchen and quelling the rapid fire.

But it wasn't enough.

Vincent may have had the ability to wield all the Moroi magic, but to a significantly lesser degree. It didn't matter so much when we were in the base and up against a bunch of unmagical Dhampirs and Strigoi, but against Hamlet and his fully specialised fire abilities? Vincent was struggling. But his positioning didn't give me a clean shot; I tried to move, but the flames kept me still, burning my sides and leaving me choking on the smoke. Again, I tuned back to Hamlet. But Vincent was still in the way - there was no way I could shoot without the possibility of hitting him. _Move Vincent!_

As I tried to find an opening, Ibrahim went for another approach. Crouching down slowly, he rested his hands against the ground and willed it to quake. Hamlet, feeling the vibration in the ground smirked and dipped his hands slightly. Ibrahim's cry was excruciating as he pulled back with some very serious burns against his palms. Not helped by the wound in his shoulder, and with Vincent trembling on the verge of tears, I realised I needed to act. The smoke was increasing quickly, and soon I'd lose all ability to see. Now or never. _Forgive me, Vincent._ With my hands trembling as I raised them, wrapped round the grip like a snake in coiled murder, I got a fix on Hamlet and fired.

The sound echoed horribly through the thick air like a rockfall in a cave. Through the thick cloud, I saw Hamlet fall; hand clutching his throat, the bullet having sliced through his carotid artery. Blood pooled out of its side and he landed on the burning floor with a look of shock and complete bewilderment.

But he wasn't the only one…

Vincent doubled over, crying out as he grasped his arm. From where I stood, I saw Ibrahim push himself up and run towards his friend. The torrent of water that had battled the blaze had stopped, but the flames themselves were losing their former intensity as their conjurer slowly faded away.

I dropped my gun back to my calf and ran to join Ibrahim at Vincent. The bullet had scraped across his arm, causing a blood loss, but not severing any major veins, arteries or organs. Under normal circumstances, he'd survive without question and I'd pull him up and tell him to suck it up. However, with his use of magic, he was already significantly weaker and this did not look good.

I saw Ibrahim's panic and he tried to keep his friend both awake and alive and perhaps able to stand so we could get out of here.

"Come on, man," he said, tearing off the sleeve of his suit's balzer and wrapping round Vincent's wounded left arm.

"Oh, bloody hell!" Vincent's reply came in the form of a strangled curse.

This was my fault. I couldn't stop the thought repeating in my head like a record tape caught on loop. I had to fix this and I knew a sure fire way of doing so.

Ibrahim's face dropped when he saw my stake brushing against my palm. In his eyes, I could see his torment - the moral battle that raged deep within his mind. He valued me highly, but Vincent…this was his life.

It is amazing what you will do for survival.

He looked away as I can through my palm. It still stung, but my ability to manage pain had been increased considerably in the past few days. Bringing my bleeding hand to Vincent, I held it over his mouth and prayed that it would work. The sting of Vincent's fangs lasted only a moment before the endorphins kicked in. I could feel my body losing itself - sinking into the sensation of a Moroi bite.

"Janine," Ibrahim's voice broke through my fantasy and his hand caressing against my cheekbone eased me back towards reality. "Let go."

I didn't want to. I wanted to stay, locked within a sea of ecstasy away from the horror that was my world. But I knew I couldn't - no matter how much I deluded myself, in the end I was always going to have to accept my world and fight on through it.

And so, I pulled back.

Vincent resisted a little, but Ibrahim forced him down. My vision began to neutralise and I could see the flames still glaring and blazing; there heat, having been masked by the endophytic sensation, now returned and scalded. We needed to get out. Vincent was gasping, but his colour had returned to his features. With a smile of relief, I turned towards the door leading out of the living room and through to the front door and the relief fell away; the flames, now without their master's control, now roamed free and freely blocked us in. I scanned the room for another way out, casting my gaze towards the kitchen entrance. The smoke was getting thicker and thicker, making it shy of impossible to see any further than about three feet.

"..." Vincent mumbled something. Ibrahim, snapped his head round and gave his full attention to his friend.

"What is it?" he asked.

Vincent tried to clear his throat and then rasped again. "Paris…" he said.

I frowned, not seeing how the capital of France was going to help us out, but Ibrahim registered only understanding and smirked.

I decided to hold back.

Vincent, coughing through the heat, pushing himself to his knees as Ibrahim positioned himself as if he were about to run a 100m sprint. With what little energy he had, Vincent focused: summoning his air ability to clear the smoke from around Ibrahim; I ran over to steady him as he looked as though he could fall at any time. Ibrahim, taking a deep gulp of the fresh oxygen, tipped his weight back before slamming forward against the ground. The floor ruptured and roared: the quake bellowing as though shouted from the heavens. Such was its magnitude, I could see the shockwave as it shuddered through the air and slammed into the wall of the living room. It crumbled like sawdust through fingers, falling to the ground and exposing the outer world, and with it came fresh air l, diffusing the thick layer of smoke, but added fuel to the flames. As though given a shot of adrenaline, they shot up and roared with twice their former intensity. I tightened my hold on Vincent and forced him forward, running out of the new exit and onto the street. Ibrahim followed behind and we collapsed in the middle of the road.

"Jenny!" Emyl's voice mixed with the raging sound of the burning building. Through the dust, rubble and flames, Hamlet's body lay limp, but his eyes stayed open, glaring lifelessly at us; a shudder ran through my broken body, but I shook it off and turned to face Emyl only to be met with Harriet's embrace.

"Oh my God! Are you alright." She said, holding me tightly and I suspected it was not solely for my benefit.

"I'm fine. A bit bruised, but completely fine." I said, sinking into her arms. There would have been a time I would've pulled away or even flinched, but gone was that inhibition and all that remained was a need to be with my friend.

I was only pried from her arms by the disheartening sound of Vincent's groan. I cast my gaze back and took in the damage. He was in tatters: his eyes were bloodshot and heavy; his mouth ringed in the stain of my blood from his fatal kiss; his suit was beyond any form of repair and the burns over his body appeared as the icing on the top of this dismal cake. But he was alive, breathing and ever so slightly smiling.

Ibrahim fared little better. A strong part of me just wanted to swoop him away from it all and bury him in a sea of comfort until every inch of his person had mended, but I knew that wasn't going to happen.

Instead, I opted for practicality as I purposefully marched towards Vincent, scanning his injuries for anything I could deal with now. "Can you walk?" I asked.

He looked down and his legs, extended out on the pavement in front of him and frowned. "Umm, perhaps?"

Without further ado, I hoisted him up, allowing him to use me as a crutch. If I thought holding Ibrahim up was tricky, the taller and a little more spider-like Vincent was another level entirely. Seeing my struggle, Emyl made to take my place, but Vincent caught my arm before I could let go.

"Thank you, Janine," he said, his grey eyes sparked with gratitude and, somewhat contrary to their colourless disposition, with life. I did not need to be a telepath to know what he was talking about; I could still feel the prick in my palm, but I resisted looking down, instead just nodding with a little yet genuine smile.

He was handed over to Emyl and relished the sensation of not having a man over six foot leaning on my small and beaten frame. I could hear Ibrahim's chuckle and turned to face him. I didn't care that the others were or were not watch, so freely ran my hands over his upper body, primarily checking for any broken limbs, but also enjoying the added excuse to touch him. He appeared equally partial to my actions which made me smile.

"Shoulder alright?"

He turned his head to glance and grimace at the poor thing before shrugging. "Just about. How is your palm?"

For the first time, I looked down at it: the gash was clear and still bleeding a little. I placed my other hand over it and covered both it and my face with a smile. "Fine." I said.

Ibrahim cocked a brow. There was no way I was going to convince him that I was fine, but we hadn't time to argue anyway for the fire that consumed the house next to us had raged for long enough and with such intensity as to catch the attention of the human forces. Indeed, I would almost feel sorry for them with not one but two burning buildings to contend with had the circumstances been a little different. As it was, there was no pity, nor even remorse, as we all piled back into the stolen car. Vincent occupied the front seat next to Emyl as driver, leaning against the the passenger door to restrict bloodflow in his upper arm.

What a sight we must have been as we walked into that service stop about one hundred miles south of the Bulgarian border. We had quickly decided we needed out of Istanbul, out of Turkey all together, particularly now that there was a scattered terrorist sect on the loose with absolutely nothing to we also figured that it would be best to clean ourselves up before we attempted to cross the border. Emyl and Harriet, despite scolds from the fire, faired the best, unsurprising given how quickly they managed to vacate Hamlet's rage, but the rest of us looked like we should be in the legions of the undead. It probably didn't help that we were also driving a car that was technically stolen. Regardless, I just glared at the sneering man behind the counter as I purchased numerous first-aid supplies and some new clothes.

"Bastard." I muttered, walking out of the shop.

"Yes, my love?"

I stopped and rolled my eyes, turning to the smirking Moroi.

He just grinned. "Told you, you needed to work on your pet names."

"Unbelievable." I said. "You going to take that off." I nodded towards his half-torn blazer which he still was wearing, though I suspected that he hadn't noticed.

"In public? Good gracious, Janine!" he gasped, placing his hand over his chest as if to over-convey shock.

I narrowed my eyes, but could not help the smile. Levity, however crude its manifestation, was in dire need and I was quite grateful for Ibrahim's particular brand of witticism. "Just get it off." I said, putting down the many plastic bags that I was still holding.

Ibrahim smiled and removed his tatter blazer, tossing it on the ground like the leftover bud of a cigarette. He then examined his shirt and glanced up at me. "This too?"

I cocked a brow. "You look like you have been dragged through a bush by a pack of ravenous dogs." I said flatly.

He looked and nodded, removing it too. I handed him the shirt I had just bought from the less than impressed man in the service stop. He eyed his suspiciously. "Well, so much for bespoke tailoring."

"Oh, quit your moaning: it fits, it functions, it's got some nice colours and it's not covered in blood or smoke." I replied shoving it into his arms.

A deep smile covered his features and he took the shirt from my grip. "I live for your logic, Janine."

I rolled my eyes, but took the compliment. Before he could stick the new shirt on, I examined his wound. It was nowhere near healed, but at least we had managed to fend off infection, and now we had an entire supply kit of our own to keep fending it off. Cleaning and redressing it, I tidied Ibrahim up before bringing my hands up to his cheeks and placing my lips on his, giving him a gentle kiss, before going in search of Vincent.

I found him sitting on a pile of used tyres. He seemed in an almost meditative state, his eyes staring into space as his body remained in perfect stillness. As I approached, he moved his head and gestured for me to join him. "Ah, Guardian Hathaway: my hero."

I bit my lip. "You know, I was the one that shot you."

"If I'm honest, I probably deserved it," he said, with a little wink. "Is that for me?" he asked, nodding towards the bag.

I handed it to him and he too pulled out his newly bought outfit, eyeing it with the same suspicion as Ibrahim. I rolled my eyes. "It isn't poisoned."

"Hmmm, good to know." he said, musing a little. He winced as he peeled his shirt off. I was quick to aid him and halted him any further once it was off to administer first aid to his wound. Unlike Ibrahim's, this wound went all the way through, severing through his arm, but still quite a way from the bone, resulting in it being painful, but primarily a flesh wound. It seemed the compulsory first aid training that we had to do every year at St Vlads was paying off and in a big way. Certainly Vincent was happy about it as he sat reaping the benefits in a remote service station in northern Turkey.

"Nice to see that you heeded my advice with regard to Abe," Vincent said, smirking a little as I redressed his arm.

I looked at him through narrowed eyes and hummed. "I did heed it, just decided to ignore it after."

He chuckled. "Fair enough. I suppose my judgement has lost some of its former reliability."

"Hey," I said, bringing his attention. "This wasn't your fault."

"I know," he said, "it is just a little hard to digest the fact that I could have known this sooner had I bothered to look properly. I saw Hamlet's aura on multiple occasions and there was always something there that I could not place, but it was out of friendship that I did not pry. How foolish of me."

"Morality is not always pretty." I said, tying the bandage and leaning back.

"How right you are." He said and sighed. "The worst part is that if I could do the all again, I would do the exact same thing."

I smiled. "I think that says more about your faith than your folly."

Vincent smiled. "Thank you, Janine. I think you may have redeemed yourself for shooting me."

I frowned. "I thought you said you deserved it…"

"I lied."

I rolled my eyes and shook my head, causing him to chuckle as he slid on the shirt over his beaten body. Harriet emerged from the station shop looking a little more like herself. Emyl was sorting out stolen ride out for petrol and, after I had sorted him out, Ibrahim had went to give him a hand. Harriet stood in the sun, relishing it's feel for a moment before glancing and then walking over to Vincent and I.

"Are you doing any better," she said though did not specify to whom she was talking.

Not one for modesty, Vincent decided he would answer that one. "Much, thank you."

Harriet smiled. "I hear you are the man with the plan here,"

Vincent grinned and nodded. "That I am. Ibrahim and I have a mutual acquaintance who can get us a plane out from Burgas, and hopefully you back to Pennsylvania."

"You are not coming with us?" Harriet said, taking a seat on his other side.

He snorted. "Do I desire running headfirst into a land we know to be occupied with an active terrorist sect? I think I'll pass on the visit to the colonies."

Harriet laughed lightly and I rolled my eyes. "I believe it is called _America_ , mate."

"And could really survive another day with cousin...Rupert was it?" Harriet added.

Vincent considered. "You raise good points, and I suppose we mustn't ignore history." I shook my head. He smiled and continued. "Alas, your attempts at persuasion will ultimately prove fruitless: we are to land in New York and I shall return to Britain." his tone change, the light-hearted banter dissipating in place of solemn brooding. "I think I shall need to, perhaps, rethink a few of my...choices…" he said, before a ghost of a smile crossed his features. "Indeed, I feel even Rupert's company is progressively becoming more and more desirable."

"Family is important." Harriet said, taking hold of Vincent's hand a giving a gentle squeeze.

He smiled. "And continually underappreciated." he added.

Emyl returned, holding in his hand a phone. The judgy guy at the station appeared to have had a change of heart upon finding himself at the receiving end of Emyl's towering intimidation and Ibrahim's…'charm'. Either way, I didn't ask any questions.

We contacted Croft immediately. The signal was patchy at best, but we managed to convey what had happened. Croft was shocked, to say the least, but he maintained his composure for the brief time we were in contact. We were also able to get an update on his side of events: Mexico was still proving a challenge and, more notably, our actions were getting the attention of _Abuela_ and in serious ways. It seemed the safe houses were no longer safe: _La Luz_ had raided a number of them during our time away, adding to her already long list of hostages, which still included, on a national level, the Queen and, on a more personal level, Harriet's immediate family. The latter of which remained unconfirmed which was perhaps a good thing, for the proof of life that _La Luz_ were giving for Tatiana saw her beaten and tortured as the group attempted to force submission through fear.

Arguably the worst part was, it was working - the footage that Croft continued to receive was a mix between the culling of political officials, the torture of the monarch and ceremonies which celebrated the welcoming of new members: those of our community too terrified to fight back. It was heartbreaking to watch and even more heartbreaking that we could not do anything to stop them.

Well, not yet at least.

With Mexico still in operation, _La Luz_ still reigned strong. Not to mention, since Kravitz and Guerra proved a bust, we still had no idea who the mole was in our ranks and if they were still there. Croft was careful with what he divulged: meticulous to the point of insanity, but given the events that had just occurred in Istanbul, I don't think I could ever properly trust someone again.

But right now, that was not our priority. We had done it: messy as it had been, we had shut down the Istanbul base. _La Luz_ had lost their European contact and with the sect scattered as it was, it was be months, nay years, before they could even think about returning to the level that they had been. Had we made the Turkish streets more dangerous by releasing a bunch of untamed and angered terrorist members with nothing else to lose out? Most definitely, and that was something I was struggling to live down. But right now, we needed to get back and so, we did.

After concluding the phone call with Croft, Ibrahim returned the device to the man, who mumbled something unpleasant that I decided to ignore, before we hopped back into our stolen vehicle and drove north, over the Bulgarian border. Vincent managed to compel the human official to let us pass with no checks or indeed any delay to the point where we drove through with an ease akin to driving through a set of traffic lights. Still heading north, and after a few more hours, we soon found ourselves at Burgas Airport. Vincent hobbled out of the car, his legs numb from sitting down for too long, as he went in search of his 'chap' at the airport. The rest of us took the opportunity to stretch out in the light of the descending sun before he came back, gesturing us to follow. Sneaking in through service doors and eventually onto the runway where the cargo planes resided, I caught glimpse of a man in a pilot's suit. He waved over to Vincent with a smile and gestured to come aboard.

Since the nature of Hamlet's betrayal was so extreme, I eyed the man with no little suspicion. As did, I believe, everyone else there, including Vincent. If the man was offended, he took no notice and instead just invited us all in to sit in the back of his plane. I strapped myself next to Ibrahim, with Vincent on his other side and Harriet and Emyl opposite. Not really caring that they could all see, I lodged my head into the crook of Ibrahim's neck and felt his sigh as he shifted his body closer. I was aware of his discomfort on his other shoulder, so was careful not to cause him to move too much.

From where I sat, I could see the tension in Emyl's shoulders; flashes of our flight into Court came into my head and I smiled a little, if not for the little familiarity that it brought. Only this time, Harriet noticed: she, no longer distracted by those insignificant details, tenderly took his hand in hers and held it tight. He glanced over towards her and it was in that moment that something changed and a deeper level of understanding was obtained.

Vincent, for his part, seemed content to watch the sight of the descending sun as it's fading light came in through the expanse of the large door, even if he did have to lean forward to see past Ibrahim and myself.

"Well then..." he said as the engine started up. "To the colonies!" he shouted over the growing roar.

Harriet and I laughed as Ibrahim smirked and Emyl frowned; my humour stayed with me as I watched the giant slip-door begin to close, the plane succumbing to the darkness. But just before the door closed fully, I caught sight of a figure: standing on the runway and looking towards us. It remained for a second, before it slipped back into the shadows and the door finally shut.

* * *

 **Hello my dear comrades in Comrade :D**

 **Let me just say: ha-lle-lu-jah! :D Oh, man does this feel good! I am aware that you guys probably haven't really got the desire to hear about my boring educational issues, but man I am feeling good right now: I have handed in every single piece of coursework** _ **and**_ **my EPQ! In essence:** _ **such**_ **a relief xD Moreover, I am also making headway with my own novel idea of which I have been plagued with the wonder that it writer's block for quite some time as I struggle to actually convey what I am thinking which has also put me in a rather good mood :D How long this was last is difficult to ascertain, however I am endeavouring to enjoy it while I can :3**

 **As ever, I must ask - this chapter: like it? Love it? Hate it? I would really love to hear from you guys and actually, wish to say thank you for sticking with this story. I know it is a little unconventional with both the pairing and (perhaps) concept too, but I am sort of using it as an experiment to see if it is working with my style of writing. Indeed, the feedback you guys have been giving is both illuminating and very useful for my part, so I really wanted to say thank you :)**

 **Anyway, I do apologise for rambling a bit :3 Here's wishing you all every blessing and hope to see you guys for the next installment...dun. Dun. DUN! ;)**

 **Mariarty :)**


	24. Chapter 24

**Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Academy or anything surrounding it (but I do own this plot :D)**

* * *

JPOV

….sunset...gasping...can't breath...the flight?...crash? No, land...bullet...gunfire...wound….blood...a cry for help…I could not stop it...reaching...gun? Stake?...someone help!...

My head was on fire: it felt as though Hamlet's rage burnt within me with such a fury as to keep me pinned to the ground. I was confused. Disorientated. What had happened? Where was I? The usual questions one asks when in distress. Of course, the answers to either would prove overwhelmingly useless in the long term: I should have been asking how to get out or, perhaps more importantly, where was my charge?

I forced my eyelids open, but to little revelation. Such was their resistance to the act, that the image that came was foggy and blurred at best. Yet, even when the picture did come into focus, it proved as unenlightening as before: I was in a room, dark and cloddy. I couldn't see much for the light, and even less due to the pounding that echoed through my skull like medicinal trepanning turned torturous. Involuntarily, my hand drifted to the source of the sore and came back stained; the warmth of the clogged blood transferred itself onto my palm and I stifled a groan.

 _Shit._ I thought. I was not so incompetent to miss the signs of post-kidnapping imprisonment when I saw them. The question was, who was behind it? Well, I had a pretty good idea; even without my mental facilities in full and cohesive working order, I could probably guess that _La Luz_ had something to do with this.

Shifting slightly, I tested my muscle movement, figuring that some sort of exploration was needed and, if I was caught, some fighting too. My leg hit against something solid. I froze, before prodding it with my toe again. The unmistakable feel of flesh graced my senses once again - it was a body, that was clear. Next question, dead or alive? Honestly, I couldn't tell you. My senses, while still vaguely operational, had taken a severe beating over the past couple of days. I shuffled over tentatively, placing may bruised and bloody palm on the body and felt its warmth. A wave of relief flooded over me and I edged closer still, positioning myself on my knees and feeling my way to the face of the body. He was male and after further assessment I realised he was also Ibrahim. The revelation sent a wave of elevated relief and sudden concern over me; I brought my cheek down to his mouth and felt his breath against it. He was breathing. He was alive. I began working on waking him up: there was no benefit to him laying there motionless, particularly as my internal barometer for danger was off the charts. I began shaking him lightly, a gentle persuasion to awaken, but when this proved ineffective, I switched to a more forceful approach.

"Huh!?" He moaned, jolting after I had hit his humorous.

"Ibrahim, it's me. You're okay. You're fine." I whispered reassuringly, bringing him into my arms and holding him close.

He, dazed at first, regained a sense of awareness and sunk into my embrace. "Did you just hit me?" he said, his voice croaked and dry, but the amusement still lingered.

I smiled a little. "You wouldn't wake up. I'm sorry."

"No, no," he said, wriggling out of my arms and wincing his way up to a sitting position. "It's fine." From the subtle movement of his clothing, I deduced he too was inspecting his head. "Ah, well…"

My concern peaked. "What is it? What's wrong." I said, genuinely both ready and willing to perform any sort of surgery he may require blinded by the darkness.

However, I was spared the effort. "Oh, no: nothing. I just haven't been knocked out in a while."

I scowled, both miffed and relieved that he could not see it. "Well, I'm glad you're enjoying yourself." I muttered, the sarcasm bleeding through.

He chuckled, the act not doing any wonders for his parched vocals. "Have you seen the others?"

"No," I said solemnly, "I can barely see you." I added, weakly attempting a joke.

My words provoked his actions: his hand coming to my face to cup my cheek. "I am right here. I always will be."

I smiled, knowing that with his hand placed against my cheek, he could feel it. A moment later, I spoke again. "Can you remember anything?"

Silence met my question at first, but after his throat Ibrahim responded, "Bits. I remember the flight: after that it is a little...foggy." I nodded again, the act provoking a deep unease within me which caused me to wince, catching Ibrahim's attention as his palm remained on my cheek. "You alright?"

"Fine. Just a little nauseous, haven't exactly been eating well in while." I said, pulling away from his hand and repositioning myself so that I sat cross-legged as my legs were starting to ache in the kneeling position.

He didn't seem convinced if his hesitancy was anything to go by, but he elected to not press the issue. "Did we crash?"

I shook my head, then realised he couldn't see it. "No, I remember landing. But after that, nothing." I paused and considered for a moment. "Is it possible we were betrayed again?"

"By who?"

"The pilot."

"Matthias? Well, that would be very unfortunate." Ibrahim said with no little bitterness. "But I do not believe so."

"How come?"

"You did not see the cheque that Vincent had procured for his troubles."

"Ah." I said. "They could have outbid him?" I pointed out.

This made Ibrahim chuckle a little and, though I could not see it, I could feel the smirk. "Outbid Vincent Alexander Cronan the Third: a veritable member of the British aristocracy? Not impossible, but highly improbable."

"Touché."

I sighed, flopping my exhausted face into my palms and slumping into a slouch. How had it all gone so wrong? Everything I had known lay out of my grasp and in utter tatters: the values, structure, everything. It was completely fruitless trying to get it all back - nothing would be the same after this, if there even was an 'after this'. Genuinely, I highly suspected that this was the end for me, but a small part of me was, however minorly, somewhat satisfied that even in my short existence, I had done good; I had saved lives, brought down an entire criminal sect in the very heart of Turkey and even managed to fall in love on the way. In all, I had made my life count and in doing so, had come to appreciate it. _They come first._ Bullocks. Fuck it - they may come first in _some_ cases, but we - us dhampirs - were just as important. Of course, I would not stand idly by and watch if some helpless Moroi was in danger, but their vulnerability as a species was vastly overrated; Ibrahim, Vincent and hell, even Hamlet were proof of that. Surely, they had to see that now. So, even if that was my last day alive, I hoped that I had made a difference and had planted, however small it may be, the seed that would blossom into something much more than just myself.

And it was that thought that perhaps stopped me from completely breaking down.

It was also embedded within that notion and all subsequent feelings of empowerment that followed that I found the confidence to rise out of my slouch, back onto my knees and embraced Ibrahim. He, surprised at first, responded cautiously, his movements tentative and wary, but soon settled in; his lips matching mine with weighted passion in the darkness that was our imprisonment. In all honesty, I was somewhat glad when the interruption came, for such was my mood and pure, unadulterated desire, that I would have probably taken him there and then.

As it was, however…

The light caught my eye instantly, and I broke away. Turning around, I barricaded a very much dazed Ibrahim behind my body and assumed a defensive stance, only to be met with a bold smile. "Ah, there you are."

"Vincent?" I gaped when I saw him and felt Ibrahim stir behind me. There stood in front of us: the British Moroi, armed with a torch that shone a dim, yellowish light into the abyss that surrounded us.

"Found them!" he called back, thus provoking the appearance of Emyl, Harriet and, as I now knew his name, Matthias (seemingly having not betrayed us).

"You guys okay?" Emyl asked, holding up a torch towards us, a little breathless, as Vincent wrapped his arms around me, engulfing me in a hug.

"Fine, a little bruised." I said, breaking away and giving Vincent a reassuring smile.

He nodded and went to his friend, only to be met with an extended arm. "I may need a minute…" he said. I frowned as Vincent stifled a snort, which came out anyway, before the realisation hit me.

Maybe I shouldn't have been kissing Ibrahim with such intensity…

Regardless, we soon had quite enough to divert attention and keep us occupied.

"How long have you guys been awake?" I asked.

"Not long at all," Emyl replied, taking a seat on the ground. Vincent plonked himself next to Abe with Matthias beside him and then myself. Harriet perched between Emyl and myself, her expression still with its natural sympathy, but with a harder edge that made her stronger.

"We managed to find one another and Matthias had the torches." she said, sending an affectionate smile his way.

The pilot returned it and nodded. "Always must be prepared." he said, his Turkish lilt thick, but his English remained perfectly audible.

"You guys have any clue what happened? Where we are?" I asked.

"It's all too hazy." Emyl said, shaking his head.

"It also feels like we've all be hit over the head with a baseball bat, which is not really helping much." Harriet added.

"Fortunately, my mental faculties remain somewhat more intact." Vincent chirped up, leaning forward a little. "We were attacked upon landing, lead, as a matter of fact, by a woman."

" _Abuela?"_ I asked.

Vincent paused, "Possibly, but she did not exactly look old enough to be an _Abuela_ , if the metaphor can be trusted. Blonde haired, not dissimilar to yours, Harriet." he said and Harriet shuddered at the thought of having anything in common with a member of _La Luz_. "Either way, _La Luz_ appeared to know exactly where it was that we would touchdown, so to speak." He said.

"They knew from the co-ordinates of my plane," Matthias said. "It is a very usual route; I thought we would not be followed."

"Hamlet knew of our connection," Ibrahim, having managed to sort his predicament out, pointed out, gesturing between himself and Vincent and Matthias. "It would not be unreasonable to guess that _La Luz_ did too, and a plane is easy enough to infiltrate. Too big to keep track of all the time."

"Indeed," Vincent said with a sigh, "It seems our carelessness and rash decision has proven rather costly." he cast a glance towards Matthias. "I do apologise, old friend."

Matthias shook his head. "You have done me good. And if I die, I die knowing I have done good."

He sat, clapping his hand on Vincent's good arm. Vincent returned it as something caught my eye.

The ground. The stone.

"You have no idea how right you are." I said, rubbing my fingers against the surface of the ground and using the light to inspect the material in more detail: a very distinct and very familiar one indeed. Vincent frowned over towards me and I swallowed before continuing."I've just worked out where we are."

My eyes met Emyl's and in an instant, I knew he had worked it out too. With a stoic and haunted expression, he picked up where I had left off: "We are in the Royal Court."

* * *

The Royal Court was a decided structural mess.

On my first day here, I had gotten lost and the map that Croft had given me proved to be of little alleviation. The place was undergoing a massive shift: with the arrival of the new monarch came new ideas and, more significantly for this particularly point, new interior design. The Court was lurching itself out of it older and outdated decor and into the new world of growing technology where computer-based engineering was taking over from traditional security measures. It was this process of transition that had resulted in an awkward and uneasy blend of old and new, in all aspects of Court life.

Including the prison system.

Whilst the new and high-tech cages were under construction for maximum criminal containment, the old system still lingered like a stubborn cancer, leaving behind a deep, underground dungeon system that looked as though it had been plucked from the medieval period still in operation.

And it was there where we found ourselves.

This revelation brought with it a number of answers to a few of our questions, but also a substantial wodge of fear. The threat of our enemies was both metaphorically and literally looming above our heads, and no amount of distracting rationalisation and planning could detract from it.

"I suppose it says something that we are not all dead." Emyl said, attempting to lift the heavy weight of fear off our chests, but to little avail.

"But for how long?" Ibrahim said.

Emyl sighed, but maintained his composure. "I think what we need to do is-"

Whatever he was going to say was cut abruptly short upon the distinct metallic sound of a lock being upon. At once, the dark room was flooded with blinding and painful light, combined with a swarm of dhampirs thundering down the stairs and into the room. Being no strangers to painful situations, we were quick to recover and Emyl and I were up on our feet in no time, the Moroi firmly behind us, but also standing. The dhampirs lined the room, enclosing us into a tighter circle as one stepped out in front of them all.

" _Buenos noches, mis amigos."_ He said, with a gruesome grin that offset the almost innocent colour of his muted green eyes and golden curls. He was around six foot or so, a little shorter than Emyl, but still a lot taller than myself, which gave him a slight edge, and given his age seemed reasonably located in its mid-thirties, he also had the edge of more experience too.

"Good evening to you too," Vincent said, his voice steady and eerily polite.

The man smiled. "Ah, I see you are responsive." he said and with the Spanish away, his American accent came through thick. " _Abuela_ will be most pleased."

"Indeed." Vincent said, continuing this line of dialogue. Having spent quite a lot of time with the man, it had been made clear to me that talking was somewhat of a coping mechanism for him. I wasn't about to begrudge him of it, but I was wondering if I could use this to our advantage and plot a means of either escape or quick dispatchment of the new arrivals. In both cases, a positive outcome seemed unlikely: these guys weren't messing around. Not only armed with stakes and guns, but the various bulges on their bodies appeared indicative of the many other weaponry that they had concealed. The were attired in clothing easy to move around in and identical, a uniform of sorts. These were not minor pawns, we were looking at the rooks, the bishops, the knights: soldiers of _La Luz_ and ones who were packing some serious punch.

"I would rather you dead," the dhampir who had stepped forward said, sounding almost bored, "but it seems that you may have some use left in you."

"How wonderful for us." Emyl said, flatline and sarcastic.

It was a response that did not rub well with the grumpy dhampir, whose expression darkened more as he sneered toward us. "Oh, you have no idea what's coming your way. Take them up!" he commanded and his minions moved, coming upon us like an unstoppable wave: a veritable tsunami that grabbed each of us and pulled us apart. We knew it was futile to resist, but that didn't stop the squirming and all together hard time we gave these soldiers as they brought us out of the shadowed dungeon and into the Court complex.

We were cuffed and surrounded, prisoners in tow. As we walked through the complex, I could see the audience begin to form. Strigoi were nowhere in sight; it seemed that they had their uses elsewhere. I strongly suspected that they, if they were still here at all, remained outside and guarding the Court for any possible outside invaders. But the Court itself was flooded with a dhampir-heavy population. We passed a few Moroi, mostly ones who had defected over if their fearful expressions were anything to go by. But even within the ranks of _La Luz,_ there were a notable number of Moroi too, which gave a different edge to the group, particularly if they were all as well versed in the art of battle as Hamlet.

We made our way through the Court in silence, save for the thudding of our footsteps and the clink of the soldier's weaponry. Our little group's, for slightly obvious reasons, had been confiscated. How Matthias had managed to keep his small torches, I would not know, and I had a feeling that I would not want to know. There were murmurs around us: talk of _Abuela, Madre_ and _Tio_. People of authority, it seemed. I wondered if the man we were being led by was the _Tio_ of their discussion, or maybe just another foot soldier.

We were led to the throne room and I had to suppress the smirk that threatened over my face at the irony of the situation. It was nice to know that the hypocrisy ran deep in this group. Part of me wished that when those doors opened, _Abuela_ would just be sitting on the throne, surrounded by her followers, looking every bit as regal and monarchical as Tatianna ever did.

This was not, however, the case.

The doors opened to a room destroyed. All of the lavish furnishings had been plundered and broken, either taken away or discarded at the side of the room, resulting in it exhibiting an almost post-apocalyptic feel. The members of _La Luz_ were scattered about the room and looking on, many with their arms folded as they looked upon us with disgust, yet also victory. I watched them all, taking in their positions and expressions and kept myself on edge and ready to fight.

But by far, the most intimidating sight was that of the woman who stood in the middle.

She was a Moroi in her fifties, maybe even sixties, but had preserved her form such that she radiated power. Her deeply tanned skin and dark hair gave her a darker quality that what only exaggerated by the dark brown, bordering on black, iris'. Her facial structure bore more resemblance to a serpent than a human and indeed her gaze pierced us like venom from a viper as she looked upon us with eerily controlled anger.

This was _Abuela._

This was the woman behind it all. We were shoved in front of her, on our knees, and she looked down upon us as a Queen would to her peasants: that same bored, irritated expression laced with anger over being interrupted. In her defense, we had caused her a lot of strife. The fact that this made her so angry made smile, and I didn't care if she saw.

"These are them?" she said, addressing the man who had lead us here. Her hispanic voice was cold, detached and deep, as though she had spent her entire life shouting and screaming resulting in that broken edge. The response was a nod. She flicked her eyes back and her countenance remained in its poisoned neutrality. "How interesting. It appears that you have been causing me a lot of difficulty."

We remained silent as she continued to look between us. Through narrowed eyelids, she approached Ibrahim. My whole body tensed up and my heartbeat pounded in my ears. Ibrahim remained as calm as ever, cocking his brow as _Abuela_ stepped towards him, inspecting him closer. She smiled. "You are the spirited one?"

Ibrahim did not respond, instead smirked.

 _Abuela_ inclined her head and sighed a little. "No, you are not. Too cocky. Too common." she said. Ibrahim remained smirking, as if trying to provoke her. Mentally, I begged him to stop; he was going to get himself killed if he wasn't careful.

 _Abuela_ was unfazed by Ibrahim's antics and instead turned to Vincent and smiled. "Hello." she said. "And what do they call you?"

Vincent kept his head down and clamped his mouth shut.

It seemed _Abuela_ was running out of patience. She signaled to the dhampir that led us here and he smiled, marching over to Vincent and punching him across his face. "The lady has asked you a question, _mate."_

Vincent grunted and met _Abuela's_ gaze, looking past the man that stood between them. "Charles." he said.

She smiled. "That was not so difficult, was it?" she said. "I know you are man of great eloquence, _Charles_." she emphasised. " _Padre_ has told me much about you." Vincent flinched a little and the nausea within me rose as I realised that this ' _Padre_ ' was in fact Hamlet; a twisted subversion, given his disguise as a reverend. "And you." she said pointed to Ibrahim. "Must not forget: every hero needs a sidekick." she said, smirking towards Ibrahim.

I could feel the rage boiling within me, but I kept it in check. Ibrahim may not be hubristic, but he did have a certain level of pride within him and this woman was pressing on his buttons. I only begged that he would be able to keep it together, just so that he might survive a little longer. He managed to keep his expression, but there was a decided shift towards anger in his eyes, but this was perhaps only noticeable to me as _Abuela_ seemed most satisfied with his reaction.

She eyed him again. "You know, I expected so much more of you, Mr Mazur. Particularly given our former...correspondence."

"The feeling is mutual." Ibrahim replied so quickly that I did not think he fully thought it through.

The dhampir snapped his head round towards Ibrahim and squared up; bounding forward, he moved and smacked his fist against Ibrahim, sending him to the ground.

 _Abuela_ smiled, but reined him in. "Now, now, _Tio_ , let us not get ourselves over-excited." The dhampir stepped back a little as Ibrahim pushed himself back on his knees, wiping his mouth against his shirt as he did. _Abuela_ recast her eyes over the rest of the group and paced in front of us. As she did, I saw the gleam of a gun lodged into the waistband of her trousers and I made a mental note of it. "I want to know what you know." she declared. "You see, you have caused me a lot of trouble and so, I wish to cause you the same. Fair, no?" she said and was met with a series of glares. "I think so. I want to know where your little friends are hiding. That is all."

Silence.

"Oh dear," she said with a pout, "I am not unreasonable, I will give you a second chance. Where are they?" she asked again.

And again was met with silence. We knew what would happen if we gave up Croft's location. _La Luz_ were already culling the members of Court who had fled into hiding, and St Cat's was the largest of the safe haven's that we had which remained unknown to the database at the Royal Court - a failsafe for a situation somewhat like this. Croft had hundreds of lives under his protection there, and there was no way that we were going to compromise that.

As you can imagine, this did not bode well with _Abuela._ She narrowed her eyes, speaking only one word: "Okay." and in one swift move, she pulled out the gun and shot Matthias in his head. I jumped back as he fell flat and rigid. Harriet screamed as the rest of us looked in shock. _Abuela_ smiled. "You ready to cooperate?"

"You didn't have to kill him…" Harriet said, staring solemnly at the dead body.

"You didn't have to stay silent." she responded. "It is interesting, the choices we make." She stepped towards Harriet, who shuffled back. Emyl occupied a ready position for attack and I could see Ibrahim do the same. So could _Abuela._ "I see you are well-liked, _pequeña flor_. I wonder, did you give yourself to all these men?"

"How dare you!" Emyl snapped, lurching forward towards _Abuela._ The whole room moved, _Tio_ the closest shoving Emyl back.

 _Abuela_ remained unaffected and, if anything, amused. "Ah, I see: just one then."

There would have been a time where Harriet would have cowered at a statement like that, but not anymore. She raised her head and glared boldly at the elder woman, the defiance within her erupting over her former weaknesses. "You know nothing, old hag."

With a comment like that, I expected _Tio_ to respond - to smack her down as he did Ibrahim. But he hesitated, looking to _Abuela_ for instruction. She, by comparison, hardened; seemingly suffering a similar situation as her commander. She wanted to hurt Harriet, but something was holding her back.

So instead, she turned to me. Walking away from Harriet, she stood right before me, looking down upon me with her snake-like eyes. She grabbed my chin and forced it up, the action causing Ibrahim to flinch substantially, provoking a smile from the old woman. "Oh, how very quaint." she said, turning my head as though to inspect me further. She sneered and tossed me down and I collapsed to the ground with a grunt. "I must say, Mazur: I prefer the other one." she said, wandering back in front of us. "I am getting tired now: just tell where your allies are, and we can be done here."

And again, she was met with silence.

With an irritated sigh, she re-cocked her gun and pointed it at my head. I saw Ibrahim's expression falter, but the look I sent him kept him quiet. _Abuela_ leaned down, leering at me to speak. "Where are they?"

I responded with a glare.

She sneered and smacked me round the head, shoving me to the ground. Firing a round, she shot the space behind me: a warning shot. I stayed quiet. She came round and stood on my hand, her heel piercing through my flesh and nailing me to the ground. I cried out, but clamped my mouth shut. She frowned and snapped her head towards Ibrahim. "Have anything to say, Mazur? Your whore is in rather a lot of pain." And she stomped down harder.

To his credit, he stayed silent, and _Abuela,_ realising she wasn't getting anything out of us, changed tact. She relinquished her foot's hold on my bound hand and winced, burying my face into the ground to muffle the pain. Through my pain, I could hear Emyl's. Glancing up, I saw _Abuela_ digging her heel into the back of his knee; Emyl's face was screwed up in pain, red with his attempt to keep himself from screaming.

Harriet was on the verge of tears. "Please, stop."

 _Abuela_ smiled. "Tell me where they are."

"I don't know, please let him go." She begged.

"No, I don't suppose you do," _Abuela_ said, ignoring Harriet's play for mercy. "But you do…" she said, hissing into Emyl's ear.

"Go to hell." was his response as he spat at the older woman.

She smiled and dug further, causing Emyl to whimper a little. She stayed there a little longer, a slight frown furrowing in her worn brow, before releasing her foot and wandering back to her initial position. "This is not working." she said.

 _Tio_ gruffed. "They are dhampirs, trained ones: they won't talk."

She shrugged. "With the right incentive, _anyone_ will talk." she said, spinning around and striding towards Harriet. She picked her up by a strand of her hair. Harriet yelped and flailed, squirming to break free. I saw Emyl pushed himself to his knees, wincing with the pain that it brought them. "Leave her alone."

"Tell me where they are." _Abuela_ retorted. This woman was certainly nothing if not persistent. I could see Emyl falter a little, but he kept his mouth shut. _Abuela_ sighed, tugging further on Harriet's hair, forcing her forward. "Oh well. You see, I have a lot of soldiers and I am sure they can find _something_ to do with this one…"

And with that, Emyl's rage boiled over. "You bitch!" He sprang forward, only to be pulled back by one of the other dhampirs. Vincent, seeing Emyl's suppression, took a deep breath and the air began to shift as he slowly built up a storm. _Abuela_ snapped her head round and gestured for one of her follows to address Vincent. A large dhampir walked over and smacked Vincent down, effectively knocking him out. I could see Ibrahim mustering the strength to launch an attack of his own, but the same dhampir who had incapacitated Vincent loomed over him.

"I wouldn't." he said, grinning sadistically.

With all this, I no longer felt the pain my hand; it was significantly overpowered by the anger I felt towards this psychotic woman, currently holding my dear friend and threatening her with the unspeakable. As Emyl continued to cry out amidst his restraint, I planned an assault of my own; pushing myself up and readying to move.

But it never came. Instead, we were all stopped dead with the sound of what came next:

"Gloria, I sincerely hope you have not forgotten our deal."

I froze.

That voice.

It was a voice that had followed me through my childhood, raising me up where I would fall, supporting me like a crutch, only then to let me go and find my own feet. I voice that I had associated with acceptance and love, not _this_. Never this. The shock and the horror rang through me deeply that it rendered me motionless. Even Emyl's enraged cries were replaced with a whimper of betrayal as his jaw dropped and tears sprung in ducts of his eyes.

How wrong had we all been… how wrong had I been! Sergey Kravitz… how had I been so foolish? Kravitz was not the mole - a mere _scapegoat_ \- for the mole in our society, the _traitor_ in our midst, stood right before us and confessed their sin…

"I agreed to help you, only if you left my daughter alone…"

Julia Conta.

* * *

 **Muhahaha! Man, I am feeling evil today! ):^) hehehehehehehe**

 **Well… dare I ask? Like it? Love it? Hate it? May I even add, predicted it? I'd be quite impressed if you did :3 Well, I shan't keep you long - I am a little excited to write the next chapter, and a little solemn as we are actually approaching the end of our little adventure. Only one more to go, and perhaps an epilogue of sorts (though I am considering mashing them together, but we shall see how it turns out :3)**

 **Well, here's wishing you all the best, my chums,  
Mariarty **


	25. Chapter 25

**Disclaimer: I do not own Vampire Academy or anything surrounding it (but I do own this plot :D)**

* * *

JPOV

My heart caught in my chest as I begged myself to be dreaming. This had to be a dream - it could not be real…

I was numb: no feeling ran through my body, no emotion that I could place. The betrayal ran deep, so deep that I knew it would never leave me.

Or indeed anyone else.

"Mom…" Harriet's voice came out as broken note of disbelief.

But Julia remained indifferent, turning to _Abuela_ she readdressed her leader. "I have kept up my end of the bargain."

 _Abuela_ smiled. "That you have, _Madre_." and with that she relinquished Harriet. Harriet fell to the floor in a bundle, before she picked herself up and shuffled back to where we were lined up. The dhampirs holding Emyl back had let him go, but he wasn't moving anywhere: stunned to the point of idleness, it seemed to be a growing epidemic.

"Harriet, come here, darling." Julia said, extending her arm out.

Harriet looked at her mother with no little disgust. "How could you?" her words escaped the confines of her lips as a broken whisper such that I doubted if she noticed she had spoken.

"Harriet, now is not the time, _come here._ " she said, the authority in her voice unmistakable.

"How could you!?" Harriet shouted, this time with greater conviction as she scooted further away from her mother.

Julia's anger could contain itself no longer. "Because the world we live in is wrong." Julia snapped. "Because we sent people to their deaths every day and call it the way of _our_ world: for the preservation of _our_ society. Well, if that is the society we are preserving, I want no part in it. Do you know, when your father died - having served this _pathetic_ , tyrannical regime all his life - do you know how many turned up to the funeral? Not even half of the people invited. Why do you ask? Because the Ivashkovs were throwing a party. They could not stop for one _second_ to honour a life; instead, they'd rather waste theirs." her expression was clouded and dark. "At least here we understand the value of life."

The room was silent. I saw as _Abuela_ smiled and I felt the bile rise within me. Harriet, for her part, remained frozen; through watered eyes, she watched her mother as though looking at her for the first time. "That woman…" she mustered the courage to speak, nodding towards _Abuela_ as she did. "That woman just shot an innocent man in cold blood, and you want me to believe she understands the value of life?"

Julia's expression faltered before hardening again. "Every revolution has sacrifices."

"Sacrifices! That was _murder_!" Harriet screamed, pointing towards Matthias' corpse. "You have been blinded by your grief." she said, her words coming out in strangled sobs.

"No." Julia replied. "I have been enlightened…"

It was then that Harriet realised there was no reasoning. Julia, in her grief, had been taken and manipulated by the psychopath that stood beside her into being Julia Conta no more: she was _Madre_ \- a mere cog in the clockwork of this cursed community.

And _Abuela_? She had no remorse. "Not to interrupt your little family reunion, but I'd rather like to get on with my interrogation." she said, very much interrupting.  
Julia turned her head towards her and nodded. "You may, but my daughter does not know anything." she said.

 _Abuela_ paused. "Yet she makes for excellent leverage."

Julia blinked, a frown coming over a features. "You said you would leave her alone." there was a certain edge to her tone: a naivety that broke my heart further. I closed my eyes; I could not bare it, for Julia Conta had no idea how used and abused she had been and how little power she had in that moment against _Abuela_.

"You said she would come willingly." was _Abuela's_ cold and frank response.

Julia blinked again. "And she will: Harriet, come here." she said, turning to her daughter again.

"I do not think she wants to, Julia." _Abuela_ pointed out, a mocking lily lacing her words.

"She can be persuaded." Julia snapped.

"No." Both Julia and _Abuela_ turned to face Harriet, the latter looking with sinister victory while the former looked on in confusion. "I will not submit to the will of a criminal. I am a free person with a mind, intellect and will of my own, and I will not be pushed around by either of you." she said, shuffling back more so that she now fully sat in our line, beside an crippled Emyl, a barely conscious Vincent, a beaten Ibrahim and a wounded me. Yet, even with the option of an out presented before her, she was resolved: "I would rather die."

Whatever Julia was about to say was cut off by the sound of footsteps running into the hall, the owner: a young dhampir with a very panicked expression.

" _Abuela, estamos bajo ataque!"_

* * *

HPOV

 _A few hours ago_

I sat with head hung over the chair: a feeble attempt at stretching out the kinks in my neck which had developed as a result of excessive strain. I closed my eyes and took a breath; scents of computing, sweat and caffeine filled me and kept me chained to consciousness.

It had been a long day.

"Yo, boss. Sleeping on the job?"

I opened an eye and glared over at the ever-witty Guardian Andrew Harrison. "I am aware that ordinary procedure is out the window, but could you try to remain a least a little professional, Harrison."

"Sorry, sir." the guardian replied, though, of course, not meaning a word of it. I hummed and leaned forward again, readdressing the screens that lay before. "You know, my grandmother you to say if you stared at a screen for too long, your eyes would go square."

"Harrison."

"Yes, sir?"

"Not helpful."

"Sorry, sir." Again, not in any way sincere.

It had been a very long day: we had managed, in the space of twenty-four hours, to acquire forty new residents at the safe haven and had also managed to lose contact with our Istanbul squad. While the former had me up half the night attempting to register and fit them all in, the latter gave me cause for greatest concern. I did not wish to, but I had to doubt the abilities of Guardians Burlatsky and Hathaway, given their infancy in the world outside of their education. Five months does not an expert make; even as exceptional as I perceived them to be, it was perhaps too much to send them off on their own. It was a calculated move, made in a moments thought. I knew the capabilities of Mazur and was astounded to learn of abilities of the so named 'Charles Windsor' (a quick Google regarding the current British monarchy leading me to conclude that this was perhaps not his actual name). Yet something was wrong, and I had a strong suspicion what it was.

So lost I was in my thoughts that I forgot that Harrison was still standing there. As blissful as it was that he was quiet, I had a feeling that he wanted to talk. Ceasing my typing, I spun around in my chair to face the man. "Can I help you, Harrison."

"Depends. Do you have $200?"

"Harrison."

"Sorry, sir." a wide grin spread across his face. "We've got some good news…"

"Sir, Mexico has been shut down-Oh, hey Drew." Guardian Gwynn exclaimed as she bounded through the door. (Without knocking, I might add).

Harrison glared over at her, throwing his arms in the air. "Ruth! I was literally just about to tell him!"

Gwynn crossed her arms across her chest."You've been in here fifteen minutes. What were you doing: writing a sonnet?"

"If I may," I said, interrupting the pair before they could take this any further. "Are you saying that the Mexican assault was a success." I asked, wishing to be absolutely clear before doing anything else.

Gwynn nodded while Harrison continued to look disgruntled. "Yes, sir. When they finally managed to pin the place, Reynolds was in and out - nice and clean, sir." Gwynn informed me.

I nodded. Well, at least there was some good news. "Excellent. Gather the others, we can now start considering an attack on Court."

"Have you heard anything from Hathaway yet?" Gwynn asked, her usual professionalism on show, but the concern there was clear.

I inhaled deeply before sighing. "Unfortunately not, I think we can assume the worst."

"Maybe this can work in our favour." Both Gwynn and myself shot Harrison a rather disapproving look. Taking in both our expressions, he decided to elaborate. "Well, no, what I meant by that is Mazur. He had that tracking thingy which he stuck in his shoe after they blow-up what-his-face's house."

"Hamlet." Gwynn corrected.

Harrison sent her a glare. " _Anyway_ ," he said, "We could use it to pinpoint his location which will tell us either where they are keeping the prisoners or, if we're really lucky, where the big dogs are."

I looked over at Harrison and wondered just how exactly it was possible for someone to go from being a complete idiot to an utter genius in the space of a few seconds. "Harrison, well done. You may have just cracked this." I could see the beginnings of a smug expression form on his face which he was no doubt going to use against Gwynn. "Don't spoil it." I said before he had the chance.

"Sorry, sir."

I rolled my eyes and gestured for them to follow. Gathering our team together, we locked onto Mazur's location and planned our attack...

* * *

JPOV

The reaction was instantaneous. _Abuela_ snapped her head up and spun,completely ignoring Julia, to face _Tio_ and the other dhampirs, who were all looking towards the new entry to the room with no little surprise. She, clearly angered by their hesitant and almost fearful expressions, began hissing order in rapid Spanish and suddenly the whole room was in motion. The dhampirs that had littered the walls of the room had bolted into action - headed for the great doors, they ran to dispatch _Abuela's_ orders among the lower ranks. _Abuela_ for her part, was like a machine - rapidly conveying pieces of data to every and all output media. She may have started in Spanish, but switched effortlessly between it and English depending to whom she spoke to. Finally, she addressed Julia, who had been waiting patiently for _Abuela's_ command.

"Make sure they don't leave." she said, slowly and dangerously. Julia nodded and accepted the gun that was presented to her as _Abuela_ gave another order before disappearing through one of the guardian entrances. She flicked it towards us, gesturing us to move to the side.

"Move." she said as if her actions were not clear enough. We, with our broken bodies began slowly shuffling towards the side, but soon halted. "Why have you stopped!?" Julia said, attempting to sound threatening, but it only came out desperate.

"He is unconscious." Harriet snapped, gesturing towards Vincent who stirred slightly on the ground, moaning softly as he slowly returned to the conscious world.

Julia looked over towards Vincent, her expression frowned and conflicting. "Well...wake him up. Do it." She said. Harriet tore her gaze away from her mother, the heartbreak clear in her eyes. She gently shook Vincent, but to no success, yet the look in her eyes told us that she had not the will power to shake him further. Ibrahim decided to take a leaf out of my book and bucked: kicking him with his foot to help him along.

"Ow." the Brit moaned as his eyes fluttered open.

"Wake up, mate." Ibrahim said as Vincent groaned again.

With Julia's attention diverted, I seized the opportunity and dredged up all the strength I had and snapped the plastic cuffs that kept my hands pinned behind me. Inspecting my palm, I saw the hole through it where _Abuela's_ heel had dug and winced again. My wrists also bled as a result of my snapping the cuffs, but I bit back the pain and assessed my chances against Julia. The dhampirs around us had scattered into a defensive position, surrounding the open doors which lead out through the main body of the Court. While Julia was not alone in the room, she had no discernible back-up.

And so I exploited it.

In one swift move I swung my legs and slammed then into Julia's. The effect was instant: she yelped and dropped the firearm. Pushing myself forward, I claimed it before she could move. My hand still wept with the pain of _Abuela's_ mark, but one hand was enough to hold the weapon up.

Upon seeing my assault, the other made a move. Ibrahim kicked Vincent again, fully waking him from his haze, while Emyl forced himself through the pain to nudge Harriet out of her despair. Her eyes still watered at the sight of her cowering mother, but with a shaky breath, she resolved neither to pity nor to hate as neither would do her any good. That all shoved themselves towards the side, away from the exposure of the centre. I cocked the gun with the back of my injured hand.

The room flooded again - members of _La Luz_ descending upon the hall like a biblical plague. Ibrahim had Vincent around his neck as he dragged his groggy body behind my defense where Harriet and Emyl resided. With Emyl incapacitated, Harriet took what would have been his place beside me; the determination unwavering in her eyes - I knew it would be fruitless to deter her.

As more frightened faces came into the room, desperately looking for the leader the had vanished from the battle, I realised that _La Luz_ were nowhere near as structured as we believed. Their fearsome reputation was just a mere facade: built on only rumour and prejudice, rather than actual substance.

The hope within me dared to flutter and provoke a smile at the thought. It was at that moment that _Tio_ returned to the room. Glaring towards the scattered members, he barked what I thought were instructions, but later transpired to be just anger, in enraged Spanish. He caught sight of Julia and me standing over her; his eyes widened and a growl escaped his lips, but before he could reach us, he was hit with a new wave of people, only this one was not _La Luz…_

Guardians.

 _Tio_ found himself pulled to the ground, restrained and going nowhere, and from behind him the head of Drew Harrison poked up. "Storm!" he called out. "You alright, mate?"

I smiled. I had never been so happy to see him.

And with Drew came Ruth and all the other guardians that had fled from Court, ending with Guardian Croft. The man was a little worse for ware, but certainly fared better than we did. With the members of _La Luz_ slowly finding themselves first outnumbered and then apprehended, the chaos around us died down. Croft looked over towards us and nodded, before turning to address another guardian. I stepped towards Julia, picking her up and holding her arms behind her back. She looked around herself in fear, as though her whole world was just melting around her. Even then, I felt pity towards the woman - manipulated through her vulnerability only to now live out the rest of her days in a cell. I could see the despair in Harriet's face and knew it was best to get her mother out of here, so handed her to Ruth, who stood with a pair of cuffs.

"Doing okay, Hathaway?" she said.

My response was placidity; I could not even bring myself to neither nod or shake my head. She smiled, understanding and not pressing any further.

I wandered back to the group. Harriet stood watching her mother, her arms wrapped around her waist, embracing herself as she knew her mother could not. The movement behind her caught her distant gaze and brought it back into focus; she turned and helped Emyl to his feet, he wincing at the pain from _Abuela's_ heel, but finding support against Harriet's shoulder. Ibrahim, for his part, had managed to fully awaken Vincent, who had elected to stay sitting, slumped against a battered pillar. I was relieved to see them all safe, if a little broken.

"Blakely, sir! We have found the prisoners." a guardian who was unknown to me ran in and delivered the news to the guardian standing next to Croft.

Said guardian, Blakely, replied. "Are they all accounted for?"

"Not all, sir: a few still missing."

"Anyone of note?" Blakely quirried.

At this, the guardian faltered. "Well, sir…"

"Yes, Parker: spit it out."

"Well, the Queen, sir…"

"The Queen!?" Blakely could not have been more surprised if he tried. Even the ever-stoic Croft raised his brows.

Parker took a step back. "Yes, sir."

"Well, God dammit, Parker - don't just stand there. Give the order. Find her." Blakely snapped and the poor lad stumbled away to spread the word. Croft met my eyeline and sent me a questioning look. I responded with a shake of the head and a shrugged, telling him I had no idea where Tatiana was. Indeed, I had no idea where the other prisoners were being kept, though I could imagine that _Abuela_ had something very different for Tatiana.

It seemed, however, that we were to be spared the trip, for at that moment the back doors of the throne room burst open, the sound pulsating in a bellowing echo through the open hall, and in stepped _Abuela_ : as vindictive and sinister as she ever was, but this time she was different.

This time, she was holding Tatiana at gunpoint.

The whole room froze as she edged in. Tatiana, while clearly afraid, maintained her regality through deep breaths as she stared directly ahead of her. Yet there was also a fear in _Abuela_ : it was subtle and easily missed, but clearly she was getting desperate.

" _Buenos dias,"_ She said, addressing the crowd of tensed dhampirs. "Now, you are going to be good and stay right where you are, or you can say _adios_ to you _reina_." she said, edging further into the hall. The whole room was static, yet a slight buzz remained as we all looked for an opportunity to dive in. I remained especially on guard as we were the closest to the woman, but there was no way she was letting us out of her sight.

There was a distinct thudding as Drew walked back into the throne room, having suitably arrested various members of _La Luz_. He was about to open his mouth, but thankfully looked up and froze in time before _Abuela_ could do anything too drastic.

"Stay where you are, boy." she said and Drew raised his arms, stepping back and glancing towards Croft for instruction. "No! Do not look to your master!" she snapped.

"I was just-"

"Silence!"

I, along with perhaps the rest of the room winced as Drew opened his mouth. Many of the guardians were shooting him a rather angry look, but Drew did not look in any way concerned.

And here was why:

He had diverted _Abuela's_ attention and that gave Emyl all the time he need: he had snuck behind and struck _Abuela_ on her neck. She cried out and released her grip. Tatiana bolted forward. The guardians jumped into action, pulling the Queen back and behind their defensive pose. _Abuela_ was enraged.

And still holding a gun…

Lashing round, she aimed at the only person she could before the approaching guardians reached her. Emyl, incapacitated, could not move. My jaw dropped and I made to run towards _Abuela,_ reaching her just too late. She fired.

And a body fell.

Though when I looked up from tackling _Abuela_ to the ground, it was not Emyl's who I saw. No: he remained upright and staring in horror at the limp form in front of him. The one who had jumped in front of him.

Harriet.

* * *

Gloria D'Espina: that was her name. I suppose even monsters have names.

Her trial began within days of the Court's reopening. A prejudiced trial, as you can well imagine, yet even life at Tarasov did not seem suitable enough a punishment for her.

I was the only one that went. Ibrahim and Vincent decided to pass and Emyl was still in the hospital. The doctors said that he would likely walk properly again, but I doubted that would offer any consolement.

Harriet Conta had been dead for six days. She was buried next to her father two days after Gloria D'Espina had shot her. Emyl was scheduled for some sort of surgery that day, but told them all to fuck off and he wheeled himself to the green. It was just the four of us, plus the vicar. Not even Robert and Tamara could bring themselves to come, though they were struggling through traumas of their own. I suppose being kept, watching others be tortured or being tortured themselves, finding out your sister-in-law is responsible and losing your niece leaves a horrid aftertaste. It was understandable, really.

And so, it was a quiet service, on an overcast day where four silent friends stood and watched another descend back into the Earth. Or well, to God in her case. Dear Lord, I hoped she was in heaven, if not for the hell she endured down here.

And she was all I could think about, even after the trial had finished and I sat, solemnly and alone in my old Court room, just listening to the sound of clock as it ticked through the day unhindered and unblemished.

It drove me mad.

And so I went for a walk. It did little to help. After everything, everything seemed repugnant. I felt physically sick as I walked through those halls. There was no way I was staying here. I had to get out.

"Hey." I said upon entering the hospital. I leaned against the door and Emyl glanced up.

"Hey." he said, monotone and flat.

I glanced towards the chair beside his bed and he nodded, granting me access. I sat and sighed. "Tarasov." I said.

Emyl nodded again. "To be expected." he said, his voice holding a strange and constant indifference.

I cast a glance toward his face: his features were stoic and cold, though not through choice or mimicry. He never joked anymore, only said what needed saying. He didn't even call me 'Jenny' anymore.

"I hear you've been reassigned." I said, attempting to ignite some form of conversation.

He nodded. "Drozdov family. Lady Anna is expecting and they require further aid."

I nodded. "Anywhere's better than here, right?"

He didn't respond, instead returned to his silence. I sighed and flopped back on the plastic stool.

"Just wanted to check you were okay." I said.

He nodded. "You going with Mazur then?"

This time, I didn't respond. I couldn't. After a few more moments, I bid him farewell and went in search of the final topic of our brief conversation.

Ibrahim. He was leaving soon: that day, in fact. Called away, his organization did not care for mourning times or recovery. Though I think he needed it. He needed the distraction, to know he was doing good, just to get through the day.

That was his life.

Everything that had happened, that was who he was. Terrorists and battles and loss and labour: it was not usual for him, nor for Vincent who found the depressing idleness of the Royal Court increasingly unsettling.

"Ah, Janine, how was it?" Vincent asked as I stepped onto the runway. The plane rested about a hundred metres away, shining in the light of the afternoon sun.

I smiled, it was small and a little sad. "Unsatisfying." I said, thinking back to the feeling that ran within me when the verdict came down for Gloria D'Espina.

Vincent nodded. "They rarely are." he said, giving me a pat on the shoulder before picking up his bag.

Ibrahim came into my view, snaking his arms around my waist, he brought me to his chest. I sighed and sank into him, relishing his embrace. "He's eager to leave." I said, watching as Vincent poked his head from the plane and urged the driver to start the engine.

I could feel Ibrahim's smile. "He's British: they don't do well with emotions."

I chuckled and pulled back. "Where are you off to, then?"

Ibrahim smiled. "Back to Russia, I'm afraid."

My concern peaked, but I was too drained to really react. "Olena, is she…?"

Ibrahim's eyes widened and he shook his head. "Oh, no, no. She's fine. We are undergoing a debrief and our 'boss' in presently in Moscow." I breathed a sigh of relief, really not knowing how I would be able to take another tragedy. Ibrahim brought his hand up to my cheek and brushed away a stray lock of my hair. "It will only be a few days, I can assure you."

I could feel my heart beating in my chest louder and bolder; my eyes beginning to water so that I turned away.

"Janine-"

"I can't." I said, still not looking at him.

"You can't what?" he pressed, his voice soft and tender and only serving to break my heart more for what I was about to do.

"I can't be your guardian."

And I could not. This was his life: the danger and thrill that I had drew me in. But mine was just the same and the life we both led was one littered with tragedy. I had often wondered why it was that guardians never smiled or engaged with their Moroi, why it was that relationships between them were always frowned upon and rejected, leaving the guardians to just stand guard like stone sentinels to the world. It always seemed to me unfair, and perhaps it was, but Harriet's death had taught me one thing: that to be a guardian meant forgoing attachments. There were no friends, or lovers, only allies: comrades in arms. A guardian-Moroi contract was just that: a cold and calculated contract based on necessity, and emotion played no part in it. I could not be Ibrahim's guardian because I loved him. And he loved me. And I couldn't take the fact that, out of that love, he could jump in front of me, take a bullet for me, and I'd have to stand there, frozen, and watch him die. It was true, I needed out of here, out of these constraining Court walls, but I could not go with Ibrahim, for the fear of my emotions bettering me. All it took was one slip. And I couldn't risk it.

Ibrahim looked at me in shock. "Janine, wh-what…?" he faltered.

I turned my gaze back to him. "I cannot be your guardian. I could not bear it."

He faltered again, but drew in closer, cupping my cheeks with his palms. "You are in earnest?" he asked in disbelief.

I nodded.

I could see his tremble. With no hesitation, he brought his lips to mine, throwing everything he had into one kiss, before pulling back and searching my eyes again. "And now?"

I committed the sensation to memory, but remained resolved. Nodding, I affirmed, "I could not bear to watch you die."

"You won't."

"I could."

"I will make sure you never."

"You cannot promise that." I said with a sigh.

The conflict grew in his eyes. "Come with me, but not as my guardian. I'll find another. Would that suffice?"

I smiled sadly, my eyes beginning to overflow and dampen my cheeks. "What would I be?"

"Anything." he said, almost begging.

I shook my head. "I am a guardian, Ibrahim. I always will be. I cannot pretend, nor deny who I am, not even for you." I said.

He swallowed, blinking rapidly and searching my face for any sign that I might change my mind. He found none. "Then I'll stay."

I shook my head. "No, you cannot."

"I will."

"Ibrahim: no. We are what we do, what we say, what we feel and this is who you are. You are the man who keeps the world in balance, because you are one of the few men strong enough to do it. Do not change who you are for me or anyone."

He closed his eyes and reopened them again, finding my own in an instant. "I'll never stop, you know. I will love you until my dying day and I will fight for you until then."

I closed my eyes and leaned forward, resting my forehead against his as he bowed his head down. "You will love again." I whispered.

"Not like this." He replied.

"Better than this…"

"Janine…" he breathed.

I could have stayed there forever and, given half the chance in a different world, I would. I tightened my eyelids and nuzzled closer, before finally pulling back. He mirrored my actions, his brown orbs slightly glazed over. I straightened up and extended my arm out, indicative of a handshake. He looked down and quirked a brow, the action almost making me laugh. "It has been a pleasure, Mr Mazur."

He smiled and took my hand. "Likewise, _Guardian_ Hathaway."

A wide smile took over my face and I sighed, swallowing back any lingering thoughts of grief in the hope of making this memory a fond one. I made to leave, but Ibrahim held me there. I cast a glance back, but saw him smirking. Frowning, I looked down at my hand and in it was placed a rose. A red rose.

"You are and always will be the only one worth my rose." he said picking it from my palm and tucking it behind my ear. His lips traced my forehead, but did not touch. He lingered there a moment before pulling back and giving me a nod. I smiled and nodded back, watching as he stepped backwards at first, but then turned, picking up his bag and following Vincent on that plane, yet something told me that this was not forever.

I retreated back into the confines of Court, now almost desiring the silence of my room and that blasted clock. And so, I did: pushing open the door and leaning against it so it shut. I stayed there, removing the rose from my ear and holding it tight toward me. Closing my eyes, I took in its sweet scent and felt a tear trace down my cheek. A felt a wave of nausea come over me and I remembered that I had yet to eat that day.

I was jolted from my position at both the sound and feel of a knock at my door. Jumping, I quickly placed the rose on my bedside table and opened the door. Ruth stood on the other side, holding a piece of paper in her hand.

She smiled. "Hey, Hathaway." she said.

"Hi, Ruth. You okay?"

"Me? I think I should be asking you that, Janine. I heard you were at the trial." she said.

I nodded. "Yeah. I think I needed the closure."

She smirked. "Don't we all." After a fashion, she extended her arm out and the piece of paper with it. "I hear you are leaving us."

"Yeah." I said, taking the paper and scanning over the contents. _One Lord Aiden Szelsky requests a conference with Guardian Janine Hathaway…_

"Makes sense." Ruth said. "Well, I hope to see you around. You are one to be admired, Janine Hathaway." she said, making to leave before stopping and turning back. "Oh, by the way, Doctor McIntyre asked me to grab you. I think one of your tests came back funny, not sure. Didn't ask."

I frowned. "Thanks."

"No worries." and with that she went away. I looked down at the paper before sighing tossing it down and making my way to the hospital. I felt another wave of nausea hit me and I groaned, placing a hand over my unsettled stomach and resolving to get whatever this was over with before finding some lunch. When another wave came, I groaned again and increased my step.

 _Whatever the doc wants, it better be important._

* * *

 **Hello my dear comrades in Comrade :D**

 **Well, lads: that's it! C'est fine! No more! What do we think? Like it? Love it? Hate it? Please do let me know what you thought (I did warn you I was in a character killing mood hehehe ;)) I won't lie: this was always going to be the ending and, if I'm being honest, I feel it suits both the plot and also myself more - certainly more than the** _ **Cold as Ice**_ **ending did. Also, whilst I love them dearly, Janine and Abe always seemed like such a tragic couple so I gave them a bit of a tragic ending :3**

 **I just want to say a massive thank you to you all for sticking with this, some of you from the very beginning which is an incredible feat :D To those who have asked if I had consider writing a post-LS story for Janine and Abe, I am deeply flattered and so happy that you want to read more :) I actually hadn't considered it, but I am now deeply pondering the possibility. I do have another Romitri project brewing and I think ready to go, hopefully bringing in more of the ideas that worked in this story over to see what people think of that.**

 **And thus ends my tale of** _ **Love, Labour and Loss**_ **;) I do hope you have all enjoyed it and would love to hear from you soon. Until then, dear pals, here's wishing you all the best,  
** **Mariarty**


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